


Everlasting Light

by Exaggerated_Specificity



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Bottom Sam, Cajun Bobby, Come as Lube, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, New Orleans, Psychic Bond, Riding, Rimming, Samulet, Top Dean, Underage Sex, Voodoo, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 08:28:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exaggerated_Specificity/pseuds/Exaggerated_Specificity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My submission for the Wincest Big Bang 2013 on LJ!</p><p>AU set in and around New Orleans, Louisiana.  In 1991, John Winchester sent Sam and Dean to live with his friend Bobby Singer, a Cajun hunter with a thriving salvage yard and swamp tour business in the bayous of Pearl River, Louisiana, about 40 miles north of New Orleans. After 5 years living comfortably in the lush, humid swamplands, protected from hell’s minions by Bobby’s voodoo spells, Dean decides to drop out of high school to go hunt with John again. Sam is distraught by the thought of losing the brother he loves so deeply and, in desperation, uses a voodoo curse on a golden horned amulet in hopes of mending their broken relationship. The deities Sam summons to possess the charm amplify Sam’s latent powers and link the boys’ souls on a psychic level. Sam’s actions have unexpected consequences and Dean is seriously injured because of their bond. Their love unfolds over the summer as Dean heals and the boys prepare to face the demonic forces that threaten to rip them apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. These Days

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my wonderful artist Kelly and my amazing beta Liz!
> 
> Please check out the full post on LiveJournal so you can appreciate the artwork and check out my playlist!
> 
> Master Post on LJ: <http://gojyochan.livejournal.com/8136.html>  
> Art Post on LJ: <http://kaelysta.livejournal.com/68166.html>  
> Playlist: <http://po.st/SXHteX>

  ** _September 1996_**  


Sam rubbed his sweat covered face into the crook of his deeply tanned arm, pushing the hair out of his eyes as he pulled up the last of the crawdad traps. The extreme humidity and near hundred degree heat had sweat beading up on his brow again immediately. He squinted and blinked his hazel eyes. They stung from the salt of his sweat and the glare of the intense mid-day sun off the emerald waters of the bayou. He sat down in the small aluminum boat and shook the trap’s contents into a five-gallon plastic bucket. There were about thirty dark red mudbugs in the rusted iron trap – not a terrible haul. In the distance, Sam could hear the hum of an airboat propeller, probably Bobby or Dean taking another group of tourists out on a swamp tour.

Weekends were popular with tourists at Singer Salvage Yard and Swamp Tours, though why anyone would come to Louisiana in late September was beyond Sam. Besides being ridiculously hot and humid, September was the middle of hurricane season. Tourists kept money flowing in but the tours meant lots of hard work even though the school year had started. Sam was constantly emptying traps or slinging bait on top of keeping up with his homework. Dean was always working with the customers or tinkering away at one of the vintage cars out in the yard, now that school was out of the picture.

At times, the arrangement made life at Bobby’s place lonely and frustrating for the thirteen-year-old Winchester. Sam would be happier spending time in his big brother’s shadow but they had been spending less and less time together. That summer had been especially tough on Sam as puberty had given the closeness he’d always shared with Dean a certain sharpness and sensitivity that Sam didn't know how to manage. Dean had been more distant too, especially since deciding not to return to Pearl River High School for his senior year. Sam sighed a little too dramatically considering he was the only one around and dutifully finished resetting the traps. There were storm clouds brewing in the east and he wanted to get back before the rain hit.

Though he tried not to think about it, Sam's solitude during these humid days reminded him it was coming right up on 5 years since they had came to stay with their father's longtime friend Bobby Singer in Louisiana. Bobby’s business had been doing well since he started the swamp tours. Paired with his alter ego as a seasoned hunter of the supernatural, Bobby had the means to care for and protect the boys in ways John could not. John resisted at first but it was no secret that he was a better hunter than father. John’s time was better used saving people, killing monsters, and tracking the evil that put his beloved Mary in the grave than struggling as a single parent on the road. After eight long years of moving from dingy motel room to dingy motel room, both running from and chasing darkness, John finally relented in giving his children the permanent home they desperately needed and deserved.

Bobby offered the boys safety and stability and it didn't hurt that Bobby’s Cajun roots and interest in the occult gave him the most extensive knowledge of voodoo of any hunter living or dead. Once he figured out the right set of charms and spells to fully ward his place against every paranormal threat known to man, Bobby was able to convince John it was in the best interest of Sam and Dean to stay long term.

Ironically, adjusting to a somewhat normal life had been hard on Sam and Dean and the brothers remained extremely close even after settling in Louisiana. Bobby’s presence in Sam and Dean’s lives was certainly positive but the scars of their mother’s death and their father’s often reckless and single-minded determination to catch the creature responsible continued to leave their mark. Sam had only known life on the road and he longed for normalcy. Sam always got the sense that Dean resented their Dad for leaving them behind and only went quietly because he wanted to protect Sam. Their close bond was a comforting support as they settled into life at Bobby's but it was also sometimes a hindrance as they struggled to make meaningful relationships with others.

Despite going to regular public school in the small town of Pearl River in St. Tammany Parish, Sam and Dean’s lives were not exactly normal. They were registered under assumed names, forced to lie to both teachers and peers about their origins and relationship. But that wasn’t the only way “Dean Smith” and “Sam Wesson” were different from the other kids in the parish. In addition to giving the boys a roof over their head and keeping their bellies full of gumbo and étouffée, Bobby made sure they had an education befitting their birthright.

Bobby’s family had owned land about 40 miles north of New Orleans, in the swamplands near the border of Mississippi, since the 1880’s. The Singer clan had a proud history of keeping the area free of pests less traditional than alligators and snapping turtles. Several local hunting families kept the large vampire nests in the area under control and all manner of other ghouls frequented the ancient swamps and historic cemeteries of the region. Mostly assisting other hunters, Bobby gave the boys responsibilities in line with their true heritage in addition to helping with his thriving business.

A good reader, well ahead of his level in school, Sam aided Bobby mostly in researching. While Dean chipped in by expertly cleaning weapons, loading salt rounds, and prepping hex bags, Sam scoured Bobby's vast collection of lore. Sam truly enjoyed reading all the fantastic, often gruesome, stories and became especially fond of voodoo. The way it was so misunderstood really spoke to Sam, a boy who never fit in even with his own family. The tragic history of the slaves that brought voodoo into practice inspired Sam's imagination even when he wasn’t tasked with trying to figure out how to catch a ghoul or break a curse. While some parents might have been concerned about their child’s love of such dark fare, Bobby simply ruffled Sam’s hair and encouraged him to keep reading. In fact, Sam planned to make a b-line for Bobby's book collection as soon as he was finished on crawdad duty.

Sam looked back fondly on the time he and Dean had spent at Bobby’s but he couldn’t imagine life there without Dean. With that now looking like a very real possibility, Sam’s daydreams about the past left him feeling hollow and sullen. Sam tried to pull his head out of the negative space and put his mind to finishing the chore, capping off the two buckets of wriggling crayfish and navigating the small boat through the swamp back to one of the docks behind Bobby’s place. He lugged the buckets across the grassy lawn and unloaded the crawdads into the large cooler in the tackle shed. Afterward, Sam looked half-heartedly for Dean and Bobby on his way back to the house, ending up in the living room when he failed to find them. The space was actually more of a library, piled high with only a fraction of the books Bobby had collected over the years. Sam smiled to himself as he sat behind Bobby’s desk. His eyes were drawn to a large old book that had left open to an earmarked page. The hand lettering and intricate design scrawled on the page reminded him of the old wrought iron gates he had seen on some of the mausoleum doors in New Orleans cemeteries.

Sam read the inscription on the yellowing paper and remembered seeing this book before. Bobby said it came to him by way of a relative that had a Haitian bloodline. It was what Bobby called “real voudou." Sam struggled to make out all the words on the page:

“ _The Marassa... divine or sacred twins… …both male and female and yet neither male nor female. They are children but more ancient and powerful than any other... ...they personify the contradictions and mysteries of heaven and earth... …represent the sacredness of family and will bring power to those in need. ...true love, justice and the purity of childhood. ...they embody children. They play together, eat with their hands and are very fond of cakes, candies and.._.”

Sam smiled the passage reminded him of Dean. Even approaching eighteen, his brother’s sweet tooth far exceeded Sam’s. He continued reading.

“ _...Marassa are very powerful. Caution should be used in invoking their power. They behave with child-like one mindedness. The Marassa behave as a pair and will not abide being out of the other's sight... ...only appear to help restore pure love, injury done to children, and to restore family… soul mates._ ”

Below the main entry in rusty brown ink was what appeared to be an invocation, translated in much more recent black ink below. Sam knew real voodoo spirits could be extremely strong and unpredictable; they were not to be underestimated. Still, reading the passage made Sam think of his crumbling closeness with Dean. He remembered catching fireflies with Dean only a few years back, snuggling in the tall summer grass, feeling safe and loved and complete. Now, the words ‘soul mates’ stung like a thorn. He pushed away the feeling and thumbed through a few more pages to see if there was any more information about the Marassa. There wasn’t much and before he knew it, his eyelids were drooping.

Sam woke up with his face stuck to the page of the ancient book. As his eyes adjusted to the low light, he rubbed at the subtle pink indentations the texture of the old paper had left on his cheek. He could smell the mustiness of the paper and the minerals in the ink on his hands as he scrubbed his hands over his face. The sky was mostly dark through the dusty window but he couldn’t tell what time it was.

He stood up and stretched out his lanky body, relieving the tightness in his muscles from sleeping sitting up in such an awkward position. Sam was about to go upstairs to start his homework when he heard the soft strumming of Dean’s guitar coming from outside. He followed the sound to the screen door and stopped just shy of opening it as he heard Dean singing.

“ _I’m a-thinkin’ and a wond’rin’ all the way down the road. I once loved a woman, a child I’m told.I gave her my heart but she wanted my soul, but don’t think twice, it’s alright…_ ” Dean looked longingly off into the swamp as he crooned. The last light was fading and the faint twinkle of fireflies appeared among the cattails at the edges of the water. There was a gentle breeze coming off the water and the Spanish moss swayed, ghostlike in the branches of the cypress trees. The air smelled like ozone, maybe a shower or two overnight would provide some relief from the intense heat.

Dean was shirtless and barefoot. It was especially muggy and Dean’s skin was glistening in the soft glow of the porch light. The freckles on his shoulders stood out vividly against his tan. The faded jean cutoffs he had on were too snug but Dean apparently planned to wear them until he burst the seams. The seventeen year old had really bulked up over the past six months and his muscular thighs were straining the tattered denim. Working on the truck he was restoring for their Dad took a lot of physical exertion and, even though he hid it from Sam, Dean had been sneaking off in the pre-dawn hours to run the old military drills Dad made them do back when they were on the road. He was getting ready to go hunt with Dad again.

Dean’s thick eyelashes brushed against high cheekbones as he looked down at the strings of the guitar. Sam appreciated his profile, almost feminine, despite the sharp angle of his jaw. Dean swallowed, causing his Adam’s apple to bob as he started the next verse.

“ _So I'm walkin' down that long lonesome road, babe. Where I'm bound, I can't tell but goodbye's too good a word, babe so I'll just say fare thee well…_ ”

Something inside Sam’s chest tightened and he felt a familiar fluttering in his stomach. Sam had known for a while now that he loved Dean much more deeply than a sibling. He looked up to Dean and wanted to please him as a younger brother would but he also knew his heart wanted, needed Dean, to complete him in a far more profound way. He looked at Dean through eyes that had begun to desire him as a lover. Sam felt as if he were losing a piece of his own soul when he thought about Dean leaving. He had been in denial about Dean’s decision all summer but the melancholy in Dean’s song brought some of it bubbling to the surface. Sam felt the heat of tears welling up behind his eyes.

The floorboard in the foyer creaked loudly under Sam’s sneakers as he inadvertently shifted his weight. Dean stopped playing abruptly and cranedhis neck around to see who was listening. Dean hated singing in front of anyone, even Sam.

“Dammit, Sam! Don’t sneak up on people like that.” Dean said gruffly. His cheeks were flushed with more than embarrassment. Sam’s eyes shifted over the small mason jar of ‘Hunter’s Helper’ sitting on the porch next to Dean’s leg. Bobby brewed the stuff in the shed out next to the busted dock and it kicked like a mule.

“You have a wonderful voice, Dean.” The words sounded so heartfelt, Sam almost wished he could pull them back when he saw how they made his brother blush even harder. Dean put down the guitar and leaned back on the stoop, digging into his pocket for a lighter. Once John’s old military-issued Zippo was retrieved, Dean pulled a tightly rolled cigarillo from behind his ear and lit it, his tanned chest expanding as he pulled air and smoke into his lungs. Sam could tell Dean was actively avoiding eye contact. He longed for the intimacy they once shared and it hurt him to see it absent, made him lash out.

“Bobby’s gonna kick your ass if he finds out you’re sneaking booze and now you’re smoking too?” Dean kept staring off into the swamp. He took a large swig out of the jar of alcohol after he finished exhaling. He didn’t acknowledge Sam’s statement.

“Goddammit, Dean. What’s your problem? Why are you trying to fuck up the short amount of time we have left?” Sam felt anger and bitterness prickle toward Dean. He already made his thoughts known on Dean becoming a high school dropout when he announced the bone-headed move a few months back. He wasn’t about to let Dean become a stranger before they were even separated.

“What the hell do you want from me, Sammy? I can’t do this with you right now.” Dean’s voice sounded sad instead of angry. He pulled himself up on the porch railing, momentarily losing his balance. He was clearly a bit intoxicated. Sam impulsively closed the space between them standing between Dean’s spread feet. Sam was almost as tall as Dean now, despite being 4 years his junior. He crowded into Dean’s personal bubble, something Dean usually hated. Sam didn’t know what he was expecting to come from confronting Dean, he just knew he was in pain and wanted closeness – maybe even a fight – anything to help squelch the feelings he’d been stifling all summer. 

Instead of pushing Sam away or retaliating, Dean threw the cigarillo into the grassy area in front of the porch and slumped back against the railing, resting on his elbows.

“I don’t need another speech from my guidance counselor, Sammy. I can’t explain it. It’s just…” Dean was looking down, his eye line trying for the porch but ending up somewhere around Sam’s knee. “It’s just something I gotta do, Sam. I just can’t be with you right now.” Sam put his hands on the railing on either side of Dean’s torso, trying to get his brother to make eye contact. Sam swallowed hard, the lump in his throat threatening to become tears as he spoke.

“Dean,” Sam’s voice trembled more than he wanted, “please don’t go…” his voice trailed off. Dean looked into Sam’s eyes. They were so close, breathing one another’s air. Tears welled up in Sam’s tear ducts and he slammed his eyes shut, trying to hold back the flood. They flowed out anyway, spilling down Sam’s cheeks and splashing hot against Dean’s chest. He wrapped his arms around Dean as he broke down, burying his face in Dean’s neck.

“Sam, please. I can’t. You… we…” There was a pause filled with Sam’s sobs and then sudden movement. Dean’s hands were on either side of Sam’s face pulling him up so they were face to face, lips pressed together. The kiss was gentle, soft, and almost chaste. Dean hadn’t kissed him on the lips in years and even back then Sam could sense the trepidation. He used to demand it anyway, the stubborn child that Sam was, told Dean he couldn’t go to sleep without first feeling the touch of his brother’s lips against his own. Sam could smell the high-octane booze on Dean’s breath as he pulled back.

“I gotta leave you alone, let you grow up right. You’re doing so good, Sammy. Acing school, even making some friends. Bobby loves you helping him research. You’re awesome at it.” There was fear and guilt in Dean’s eyes and it broke Sam’s heart.

“I need you Dean, please. I don’t want to be here without you.” Sam gasped, tears spilling again. He pressed his body into Dean’s, sealing their lips together once more. His tears dampened their kiss as Sam parted his lips, tilting his head instinctively. He felt Dean’s tongue slip shallowly between his lips for a brief moment before Dean pulled away again.

“Sam, we can’t.” Dean looked up at the water stains on the ceiling of the porch and bit his lower lip before continuing, “It’s… I have to go. Dad needs me.” Sam pulled himself out of Dean’s arms. Dean’s eyes were wet, he didn’t want to leave any more than Sam did but his stubbornness was legendary. Sam knew this was nothing but an out-and-out rejection of everything he wanted their relationship to be.

“That’s bullshit and you know it, Dean!” Sam ran back into the house, slamming the screen door loudly behind him. Instead of running upstairs, Sam stopped on the foyer, fists balled up in anger. He wanted to go back out and lay into Dean, letting all of the dark, bitter thoughts that had been building up over the past few months come spilling out. As he turned to burst back onto the porch yelling, in full attack mode, Sam saw Dean through the screen door. His head was tilted down toward the porch and his hands were balled up into fists, just like Sam’s. His lip was quivering and his face was tightened up into a pained scowl. Silent tears streamed down his cheeks before Dean reached up to scrub his hand over his face. The sight stopped Sam in his tracks and he looked on helplessly as Dean picked up the guitar and half-empty jar of moonshine and walked out back, toward the garage.

Sam punched the banister half heartedly as he stomped up the stairs. Dean was growing more like John every day, deciding it was better to push his feelings away, drown them with drink, and hide from the pain. Sam’s tears burst forth fresh, anger and loss swelling in his chest as he slammed the door to their room and flung himself sobbing onto his bed. Dean didn’t come back up to their room that night.


	2. Too Afraid to Love You

**_Thanksgiving 1996_ **

October came and went and very little changed for Sam. As the Louisiana weather grew more temperate, he absorbed himself in school and routine. He was doing extremely well in the advanced placement courses he tested into at the start of the year and spent a lot of his free time reading Bobby’s extensive book collection. Dean spent most of the fall covered in grease on a mechanic’s dolly underneath the Sierra Grande he was rebuilding for John. Dean acted as though it was only to ensure John gave him the Impala on his 18th birthday but both boys knew it was also to avoid picking the scab on the raw feelings between them. Dean rarely slept in the room they shared anymore but he always had some excuse to keep the questions from Bobby and Sam at bay.

Despite their familial problems, Thanksgiving in Cajun country was one of the boys’ favorite times of year and they did their best to enjoy it. The weather was nice on the bayou and, as always, Bobby went all out cooking a traditional feast. This year Bobby prepared a big standing pork roast with his famous oyster dressing and a host of side dishes. Their fridge would be busting at the seams with leftovers for ages, even with two adolescent males to help devour them. Dean and Sam even helped make the sweet potato pie recipe out of Bobby’s mamaw’s dusty, old handwritten cookbook.

Dean covertly threw bits of pie dough at Sam over the center island as they worked on their assigned kitchen tasks that morning. Bobby got after them for horsing around when their antics escalated into a full blown food fight and they nearly knocked over the gravy boat.

“That’s a family heirloom ya idjits!” he snapped. Sam and Dean giggled together until they almost cried, just like when they were little kids.

The meal was delicious and Sam thought they really felt like a family for the first time in months. They made eye contact and smiled at each other during dinner and Sam just felt good and warm and connected to Dean again in all the right ways. For a while, the longing inside that had pained him for months dulled to a slight throb and his angst subsided.

“I need you boys scarce later, ya’ hear me?” Bobby was gruff as he entered the kitchen while Sam and Dean were scrubbing up from the meal. He explained that Rufus and several of the other area hunters were coming by. One of the area vampire nests was going through a leadership coup and it had gotten out of hand. A few rogue members may have even been hunting humans again. It had to be taken care of, Thanksgiving or not.

Bobby didn’t go into the field much now with the boys at home. He made a conscious effort to be a better father figure to Sam and Dean than John had been but there were still times where the good of the community called him away. Sam understood but he wasn’t happy about it. The night had been so perfect and normal. Leave it to vampires to start something on Thanksgiving, just when Sam felt like they were a normal family again. It was a rare occasion and Sam didn’t want to let that feeling fade.

“Lots of people go to the movies on Thanksgiving, Sam. Stop poutin’. ‘Sides, you boys should spend some quality time together ‘fore Dean takes off.” Bobby gave Dean a small stack of bills and hustled them out the door, much to Sam’s dismay. He wasn’t looking forward to spending the ride into Slidell thinking about Dean’s inevitable departure.

“Come on Sammy, it’ll be fun.” Dean saw the apprehension on Sam’s face and tried to smooth things over with his goofy grin. They piled into Bobby’s Chevelle and headed toward the highway. It was opening weekend for ‘Star Trek: First Contact’ and Dean couldn’t stop chattering about it. Sam relaxed and basked in his brother’s unabashed geekyness, smiling to himself as they pulled into the theatre parking lot.

The warm energy of the holiday followed them into the multiplex where they arrived right on time for the last showing of the night. Dean bought an excessive amount of popcorn and candy at the concession stand considering their bellies were still full from their earlier feast. Sam found them seats in the very back row of the theatre. There were only a handful of other theatergoers spending their turkey day with Jean Luc Picard and crew but the boys inevitably made too much noise and got shushed a few times.

Sam put his head on Dean’s shoulder during the third act and was pleasantly surprised when Dean didn’t pull away. Instead, Dean put his arm around Sam, pulling him closer. Sam felt a twinge of pain as his mind drifted to that as of yet undetermined date in the future where Dean would be the next in the long line of people Sam loved who left him behind. He sighed and snuggled as close to Dean as he could with the arm rest in the way, closing his eyes and letting the warmth and closeness of the moment take over for the doubt and concern.

The mood picked stayed light on the drive back. Dean shook Sam out of his gloomy thoughts talking about the BORG and generally just geeking out. Sam loved watching Dean like this, wide eyed and passionate, babbling and laughing at his own jokes. They ate the rest of the candy they bought in the car and were still buzzing on their sugar high when they arrived back at Bobby’s. Sam turned on the TV and sat down on the couch. After a few minutes in the kitchen, Dean emerged with the last piece of sweet potato pie.

“Bobby left a note, I don’t’ think he’s coming back tonight.” Dean sat down next to Sam on the couch and passed Sam the fork. Dean only brought one so they traded off bites, secretly policing one another to make sure neither ate more than their fair share.

“I’m older, I get an extra bite.” Dean proclaimed when they got down to the last few mouthfuls, shoving bites rapidly into his mouth one after another. Sam tackled Dean while his mouth was still full and they tangled together, too rough and giddy from sugar. Dean retaliated by shifting his weight and pulled them down onto the floor between the couch and the coffee table. Sam landed like a sack of gravel on top of Dean, knocking the wind out of him briefly. They giggled and snorted, half-heartedly wrestling until they were out of breath.

“I missed this.” Dean said smiling up at Sam in a rare moment of emotion as the TV babbled mindlessly in the background. Sam looked into Dean’s eyes and the void in his chest filled with love and longing. Before the sadness could overwhelm him again, Sam leaned down and kissed his brother’s soft, moist lips. It felt perfect as their faces slotted together, the faint flavor of sweet potato pie still clinging to Sam’s pallet. It felt like being safe, it felt like the only home Sam ever really known.

Sam braced himself for Dean to push him away but nothing happened. Sam’s eyes were squeezed shut but the light from the TV flickered. After a few moments, he opened his eyes and slowly pulled back. Dean’s eyes were closed too and he groaned low in his throat before pulling Sam closer using the front of his shirt, running his other hand up the back of Sam’s neck, tangling in his hair. The movement caused Sam to turn his head and open his lips in a way that felt natural and soon both boys’ lips parted and their tongues swirled like velvet against one another.

Dean gasped into Sam’s mouth and their kiss deepened. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, almost deafening, and yet he could still hear the soft suction sounds of their lips and tongues combined with their harsh breathing over the infomercial on the TV. They fell into a rhythm that was comfortable and slow, Sam straddling Dean and clinging to his shoulders like there was no gravity in the room. Time seemed to stand still for Sam, his heart filled to bursting and his body trembled in disbelief. Dean’s hands slid down Sam’s sides and onto his hips, pushing him down slightly as he tilted his own hips upward. Sam whimpered as he felt Dean’s clear arousal pressing into his own.

Then, as suddenly as it began, Dean put on the brakes. It could have been the sound Sam made; a throaty, desperate moan right out of a porno. Maybe it was just the gravity of what they were doing finally hitting Dean, but either way he firmly gripped Sam’s shoulders and slowly pushed him back.

“Sam. Stop. We have to stop.” Sam let Dean move him without resistance, shutting his eyes, not wanting to see the look he knew was on Dean’s face. Sam still straddled Dean’s thighs and Dean’s ragged breath betrayed him. Sam knew Dean wanted this just as much as he did but before he could say or do anything more, Dean simply embraced him and pulled him close.

“I’m so, so sorry Sammy.” Sam felt the rattle of tears in his brother’s words and moisture on his neck where Dean’s face was buried. Sam hugged Dean in return, heart breaking even more knowing Dean’s pain was his fault.

“I love you, Dean. You’re the only one I’ve ever loved.” Dean’s sobs intensified at Sam’s confession and he gripped his brother even more tightly. Sam knew there was nothing he could say to fix it and that knowledge left him gutted and empty. Dean was going to leave and he had no control over that. He was broken and disgusting and even his own brother was unable to understand what was in his heart. His love was killing them both and there was nothing he could do. Sam pulled out of Dean’s arms and stood up, retreating to their room without saying anything else.


	3. Bad Ritual

**_December 1996_ **

“What’s eatin’ atcha, kid?” Bobby asked, looking at Sam with concern in his eyes across the front seat of Bobby’s old wrecker. He was Sam’s default chauffeur now that the boy’s school life had become more active. Sam avoided asking Dean for a ride whenever possible since he would just drown the uncomfortable silence between them with AC/DC or Metallica. Dean hadn’t spent a night in the room they shared since Thanksgiving and Sam wasn’t about to push the issue. What had happened between them was like an elephant in the room whenever they were together. Sam was honestly surprised Bobby hadn’t said something sooner.

“He’s leavin’ Bobby. He’s leaving and it’s all my fault.” Sam felt a lump form in his throat saying the words out loud. “Just like Dad. I drive everyone away.” Sam knew he was feeling sorry for himself as soon as the words left his lips, no matter how true they were. Even if Bobby judged him for it, at least he was being honest about his feelings.

“Always been such a sensitive boy, Sam. But you gotta know dis ain’t about you, right?” Bobby’s voice was sincere and his thick Cajun accent made Sam smile, just a bit. Bobby patted his shoulder reassuringly. Sam sighed, shaking his head as he looked out the window. Bobby didn’t understand, couldn’t possibly. Sam’s soul was an open wound and his desire was slowly eating him alive. Sam felt his cheeks flush with shame. Despite his anger and frustration with Dean, Sam still loved him with all his heart and wanted nothing more than to make things right.

“But it is about me, Bobby! I poison everything. I’m broken.” The silence after his words was almost deafening but Sam didn’t want to speak any more, he didn’t want to cry. Bobby didn’t seem to know how to react so they pulled onto the road to the salvage yard and drove up to the front of the house in silence. Sam opened the door before Bobby even had the tow truck in park. But before he could slip out of the seat, Bobby grabbed his elbow, stopping his exit abruptly.

“Hey, hold up. I got somethin’ might help. C’mere.” Sam remained quiet and followed Bobby down the gravel driveway into the house. Dean was nowhere in sight but it was still light enough out that he was probably outside working on the truck. Sam followed Bobby up the creaky stairs to his bedroom.

Sam never spent much time in Bobby’s personal space but immediately appreciated how Bobby had tried to keep things the way his wife had them when she was alive. The yellow paint, floral bedspread, and lace curtains had faded with time and bore a layer of dust that made the mood of the room decidedly melancholy. Bobby’s book and artifact collection had spilled over into his bedroom as well and there was not much room for Sam. He sat on the bed patiently and quietly eyed Bobby as he looked around for something. After poking around in several drawers and mumbling to himself, Bobby pulled a cigar box off the top of the corner shelf and sat down next to Sam at the foot of the bed. He sat with the box in his lap, holding the lid closed.

“Dean knows you love him, Sam. He love you too even if he don’ say it much. He ain’t leaving ‘cause of you.” Bobby put his hand over Sam’s where it rested on the bedspread. “He’s got to find his own way. He got some bad feelin’s ‘bout your Dad leaving you two here wit’ me and he’s gotta prove himself. He’s gonna miss you, Sam. He won’t forget.”

“I just don’t want things to change Bobby. I just want us to… I don’t know. It’s just… broken. It hurts so much.” Sam swallowed down the feelings swelling in his chest. He wanted to shout his love for Dean from the rooftops and he wanted Dean to love him back the same way. “I would do anything, Bobby. I would do anything for him.”

“I know dat, Sam. Dean know it too. Sometimes things change for the better. Things already changed. You two used to be t’ick as thieves and now you barely look at each other. You need change to get better. You’re jus’ growin’ up.” Bobby sighed deeply, looking down at the box in his hands. He stood up as if he was going to take the box and put it back. Before he had a chance, Sam asked, “What’s that Bobby?”

Bobby breathed in deeply and sat back down next to Sam. He opened the box and rifled through the contents half-heartedly. Sam had already spied the small pouch of black fabric nestled in the corner of the shallow wooden container. Bobby looked at Sam long and hard before plucking it out of the box and presenting it to the boy.

“Story goes she’ll protect the heart of the one who wears it.” Sam reached in the bag and pulled out a small, solid brass charm in the shape of a head bearing a pair of horns. The face was androgynous and it looked tribal and very old. Given its source, it was probably voodoo. The details of the amulet were no longer completely distinct, they had smoothed with time. Sam turned the little deity in his hand, contemplating its purpose.

“Maybe you give Dean dat before he goes. It will bring him back safe. Keep you in ‘is thoughts, ‘is heart.” Sam traced his finger over the swirl on the figure’s forehead. At first his mind tripped over how the charm was supposed to help but, as the brass warmed in his hand, Sam had a small epiphany.

“Yeah, I’ll do that. Thanks, Bobby.” He got up and left the room more quickly than necessary. He needed to be alone with his thoughts and knew Bobby would never support even a hint of what Sam was thinking.

Sam stared at the amulet for a few hours that night in bed as he listened to the crickets chirping loudly in the yard. He knew what he was considering was dangerous and it might not even work. Sam’s mind swirled with the mountain of voodoo lore he’d amassed over the past few years. He was going to put his knowledge to use.

The next day Sam found a leather thong and strung the amulet on it, long enough to make a necklace. He kept it tucked in the little black bag Bobby gave it to him in and slept with it under his pillow, steeling his resolve. He knew the book he needed and hoped Bobby wouldn’t notice it was missing after he took it.

John was due back a few weeks before Dean’s birthday in January so, when Sam was on winter break, Bobby closed the shop and made plans for the three of them to spend some time together as a family. Sam tried to enjoy Bobby’s coddling but he found it hard to hide his eagerness for their upcoming trip to New Orleans. They were going to a Zydeco Holiday Music festival during the day on Saturday and planned to stay overnight in the city so Dean could find some parts he still needed to finish John’s truck. They would be staying in a hunter safe house near the French Quarter where Sam could sneak away to put the finishing touch on the present he was preparing for Dean.

The amulet Bobby had given him set off a train of thought in Sam that he had been unable to control. The struggle he had been going through in recent months had crystallized his feelings but he was incapable of communicating them, especially as Dean continued to push him away both physically and emotionally. Sam felt helpless and trapped, like he was losing everything, and he had to take action. He was convinced he had found a way to stop the events that were ruining his life. He thought he had outsmarted the universe on some level – it was just up to him to execute it properly.

Sam did his best to enjoy the festival but he was disconnected the entire night. Fortunately, no one mentioned his lack of enthusiasm, chalking it up to standard teenage behavior. Dean and Bobby both got lost in the music and food, allowing the holiday spirit to wash over them. The decorations and music were beautiful and the mood was festive but Sam was more than just a little distracted. He was busy reciting a lengthy voodoo charm, making sure he had it absolutely memorized. He only had one shot that night to get it right.

Bobby enjoyed himself catching up with extended family and partaking in one too many cups of eggnog. He was three sheets to the wind by the time Dean got them back to the safe house in Bobby’s Chevelle. Sam wasn’t surprised when Dean showered and got dressed again to go out once Bobby passed out on the dingy plaid couch.

“Gonna go test drive my new ID, Sammy.” Dean flicked the shiny plastic with his finger as he showed it off to Sam. The ID was one of many Dean constructed in recent weeks, all part of preparation for his new life on the road with John.

“I’m gonna hit up Burbon Street so don’t wait up.” Dean ducked out the door, avoiding eye contact. Sam would normally be burning with jealousy and frustration but instead he was thrumming with nervous energy. He was grateful he didn’t have to sneak past his light-sleeping brother to accomplish his mission.

Sam pulled out the map he pocketed in the car and double-checked the route he had planned from the house they were staying in near Washington Square Park to St Louis Cemetery No 1. The cemetery was just over a mile away so Sam was confident he could make it there and back on foot without any trouble. He hadn’t been able to get a look at the place while it was open during the day so he dug Dean’s lock pick kit out of his duffle bag and shoved it in his backpack with the other items he needed for the ritual, just in case. He quietly shut the front door, leaving it unlocked, hoping that Bobby wouldn’t wake and Dean wouldn’t return before he got back. They were staying in a residential area to the east of the Quarter so there was minimal foot traffic and no tourists to be seen as Sam crossed the street, carefully surveying his surroundings.

Sam wrestled with doubt as he jogged down the sidewalk, sticking to the shadows as much as he could. All he wanted was for Dean to stay in Pearl River with him. He wanted things to be like they were before. He could accept if they couldn’t be together in the way he wanted, he just couldn’t stand Dean becoming like Dad who was nothing more than an apparition in his life.

Bobby told Sam the amulet would protect the heart of the wearer. Sam hoped it would mend it too. He could sometimes hear the sound of Dean’s sobs in his mind echoing from the night he had taken things too far. Sam couldn’t find much solid guidance on the amulet’s purpose in any books but he trusted Bobby’s knowledge. The amulet was obviously rare and very special. What Sam did know more about was voodoo and there was a particular spirit Sam was hoping to call into service to push things along.

Sam felt as if it were fate that he should have read about the Marassa when he most needed them, as if it was their divine magic at work. The Marassa were twins, kindred spirits, soul mates – just like Sam and Dean. The legends Sam read told stories of the twin spirits healing infertility, mending burnt bridges between family members, and reuniting lost lovers. He was convinced that if he could summon them properly, the Marassa would help repair his relationship with Dean. Sam could never feel complete without his brother there beside him, they were opposite sides of the same coin and needed each other to be whole.

The Marassa were powerful, pure. If they agreed to help Sam it would be all the affirmation he needed that his love for Dean was not only real but righteous. How could anything that felt so pure and beautiful be anything but destined by heaven? Sam was not willing to accept that the love he felt for Dean was wrong and he knew Dean felt it too, he was just afraid.

Those thoughts tumbled over and over in Sam’s head countless times through sleepless nights for months and the pain sliced through the doubt in his heart like a knife. It was crazy but if he could summon the divine twins, ask for their help, and then bind them to the amulet he gave Dean, he could keep his brother by his side always. Dean might think things would get better if he left but Sam wasn’t willing to let him go so easily.

Before Sam knew it, he was there. St Louis Cemetery No 1’s gates were locked. He had the lock pick but the front entrance wan on a well lit street so Sam cased the cemetery’s perimeter once in its entirety before selecting a spot to climb instead. The tall, wide walls that housed some of the above ground crypts the cemetery was famous for surrounded a majority of the property. A large wrought iron fence protected the back of the burial ground and the place where the wall and the fence met was ideal for climbing. Sam pulled himself up and over quickly and quietly, staying close to the wall while his eyes adjusted to the dark. He had a flashlight and matches but didn’t want to risk being seen until he found Marie Laveau’s crypt. Given the historic nature of the property he was sure there was at lease some security.

After letting his breathing calm and eyes adjust, Sam ventured out into the maze of crypts. He knew he was looking for a small, unassuming tomb that had been marked up by locals looking for a blessing from New Orleans’ “voodoo queen” Marie Laveau. He weaved through the crumbling city of the dead, navigating the aisles of brick and concrete lined with rusting wrought iron and once magnificent statues worn smooth and broken with age. It was hard not to be distracted by the haunting beauty in the aging structures around him.

The first issue Sam encountered when he had decided to invoke the Marassa was that he didn’t know any living voodoo priests or priestesses and one was generally necessary to bring the spirits out of hiding. He couldn’t ask Bobby without sounding insane or raising too many questions. The whole thing was desperate and he knew it. Sam was aware how others would perceive his feelings for Dean and his plan to keep his brother close. He had pieced together a ritual to summon the Marassa but someone with great power was needed to oversee the service, particularly since he was requesting the spirit’s help. That’s where Madam Laveau came in. Sam hypothesized that using Marie Laveau’s crypt as a sort of conduit for the spirits might work. It was risky at best but many people prayed at Laveau’s grave and left offerings throughout the years even if her actual status as a voodoo priestess was somewhat questionable.

To summon the Marassa Sam had to make an offering. He hoped the confections and toys in his backpack were sufficient to draw them out. He didn’t know what would happen when they were summoned especially since he was the only vessel available for them to speak through, seeing as Laveau herself was years dead and entombed. If he could at least get them to show themselves he was sure the next part of his plan would work.

Sam didn’t see or hear anyone else on the grounds as he explored and it took him the better part of an hour to find Laveau’s tomb in the maze-like cemetery. The mausoleum was smaller than he expected, holding only two crypts. It was marked with x’s and crosses and littered with offerings from the faithful so it had to be her. Sam steeled his resolve and set to his task.

Sam knelt on the concrete in front of the tomb and lit a few red votive candles before setting out the offerings he brought. He spread out a small collection of candy and cookies, some army men he found at the Goodwill, and a brass bowl. He also unfolded a small hunting knife, placing it on top of the faded black t-shirt he had the knife wrapped in next to the make shift altar. Finally, Sam pulled the amulet out from under his shirt and gripped it tightly in his fist.

“It’s for Dean,” he told himself. Leaving the charm against his chest, Sam positioned his wrist over the small bowl and sliced into his flesh with the knife. He gritted his teeth against the pain, pushing deeper until blood flowed freely into the open vessel. As his essence dripped into the brass bowl, Sam closed his eyes and said the words he had memorized out loud, sweeping his other hand over each of the offerings as he focused on Dean in his mind.

“ _Marassa nou nan nwa e_.” Sam touched the Jolly Ranchers and pack of M &M’s with his fingertips.

“ _Marassa nou nan nwa devan bondye_.” Sam laid his hand on the box of animal crackers, grazing his thumb over the box’s soft, cotton string handle.

“ _Marassa pote chandel pou klere nou_.” Sam stroked his palm over the group of army men and then brought his hand up to his neck to clutch the amulet again.

Sam sat in the quiet, eyes still closed, listening to the faint roar of traffic in the distance. The cut in his wrist was throbbing but he could tell the blood had stopped. He opened his eyes tentatively and reached for the t-shirt to press against his wounded wrist. Sam focused on tending his injury for a moment, trying not to feel disappointed that nothing appeared to have happened.

Just as his legs were starting to go to sleep beneath him, Sam heard a twig crack somewhere in the rows of graves behind him. He quickly blew out the candles fearing a security guard might be approaching. As the sulfurous smoke from the blown out candles swirled around his face, Sam felt something rush past him. The gust of wind ruffled his hair and swirled the smoke. As it dissipated Sam heard the unmistakable sound of a child quietly laughing, then another, followed by tiny footsteps. The sounds made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and goosebumps raced down his arms and legs.

Trembling hands moving quickly, Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out the small bag he needed for the next step – the binding spell. He spoke clearly into the darkness as he clutched the amulet with his other hand, tiny horns digging painfully into his palm.

“I need your help. I need you to fix me. I need you to help me and my brother.” Sam waited, there was no response, no acknowledgement. “It’s no different than any other spirit, Sam.” he whispered, this time to himself. He was rattled in a way he hadn’t been since traveling with John. He could feel a powerful presence in the darkness but could not tell its intent.

“I have offerings. P-please come.” Suddenly there was more rustling behind him and Sam and he felt his vision go wavy. His limbs felt heavy, leaden and he would swear later that he could sense something trying to force its way inside his mind.

“ _Invoco Marassa. Te in mea potestate. Defixi. Nunc et in aeternum._ ” The Latin rolled off Sam’s tongue and he dumped the bag of sand, salt, and herbs into the bowl of his own blood just as his consciousness slipped away.

Sam’s skin was damp and cold when he woke up on his back staring up between the tombs. He was no longer in front of Marie Laveau’s tomb but next to it, curled up in a fetal position against the crumbling stone. The offerings were scattered, smashed and there was blood splashed across the concrete. He had spoken the binding spell just as the Marassa had tried to enter his body as a vessel. What happened after that was unclear. Sam’s right wrist ached terribly where he had sliced it open and his left palm was bruised from so ferociously gripping the amulet. The amulet itself hung around his neck still and when Sam inspected it there was no indication of any change. He collected his bag and his wits before getting on his feet. He was wobbly but he had to get back to the safe house.

Sam ran through the rows of tombs, trying to exit as quickly as possible. It was still very dark but Sam could see the pastel threat of dawn kissing the edge of the sky as he cautiously scaled the cemetery’s front gate.

Sam was incredibly disoriented as he headed back to the safe house. He had a good sense of direction but kept second guessing himself and decided to slow his pace. It seemed to take much longer to get back to the house than it did to find St. Louis No 1. Upon entering the dingy space, Sam found things exactly as he left them even though he was gone for much longer than originally planned. Dean had not returned and there was no indication Bobby had woken up to discover him missing. Sam couldn’t risk showering and waking up Bobby so he quickly used the restroom, cleaned the cut on his wrist, and stripped down to a t-shirt and boxers before climbing into his cot. He was asleep before his mind could even begin to process what had happened earlier that night.

Sam didn’t wake up when Dean came back. In fact, Dean had to shake Sam awake when it was time to leave the safe house. Sam had experienced a solid, dreamless sleep but he still felt like he had pulled an all-nighter. His muscles were stiff, his head throbbed and he got a little nauseous when he moved around. Sam hauled himself out of bed regardless and forced a smile, explaining his tiredness away as a side effect of the small, uncomfortable cot. Bobby and Dean seemed to buy Sam’s excuse and didn’t bat an eyelash when he ordered a large chicory coffee to wash down his beignets at Café Du Monde in hopes of erasing the fog from his mind.


	4. Feels Like the End

The rest of the trip was uneventful. They spent longer than Sam would have liked at the junkyard looking for parts but they got everything Dean needed for the Sierra Grande and Bobby found a 1968 Ford F-350 to restore. On the drive home Dean drove the Chevelle, following Bobby in the barely drivable Ford pickup. Sam crashed next to Dean on the way back to Bobby’s, the lull of the road rocking him to sleep just as it had when he was a small child. Despite Bobby having to go under the speed limit in the newly acquired junker, the trip back only took the better part of an hour so Sam’s respite was short lived. He woke abruptly when Dean’s elbow jabbed into in his rib.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Dean said as he poked Sam. Sam winced from the pain in his ribcage. He was pressed up against Dean who was looking down at him with mild concern from the driver’s seat.

“We’re home now, bro. You must have been having one helluva dream. You were moaning and, uh, giggling the whole way up.”

Giggling? Sam’s brain was a little slow to react but he didn’t remember dreaming at all. Sam and Dean had shared sleeping space their whole lives, until recently anyway, and this was the first Sam had been accused of giggling in his sleep. It was raining pretty heavily outside and their breath was already fogging up the windows in the few moments since Dean shut off the engine. Sam sat upright and rubbed his hand over his face. The side of his mouth was caked with dried spit and his eyes were itchy and sore.

“Yeah, sorry. Think maybe I’m getting sick or something.” Sam’s voice sounded rough in his own ears. Maybe he really was getting sick and not just making excuses to get Dean to back off. Dean studied Sam’s face for a few more moments, his expression softening and his eyes growing sad. For a moment it looked like Dean might say or do something else but, as the silence between them grew thick, Dean just sighed and opened the door to get out.

“Dean…” Sam called after Dean halfheartedly, not sure of what he wanted to do or say.

“See you upstairs. I’m gonna take a shower.” Dean shut the door and jogged into the house to get out of the rain. Sam sat in the car for a few minutes after Dean left watching rain bead on the windshield. He fished the amulet out of his shirt and pulled the leather thong holding it up over his head. Palming the little deity he looked into the brass face of the charm.

It was a week from Christmas and just over a month until Dean’s birthday. Sometime between now and then John would return and Dean would leave with him. Just thinking about it made Sam feel dizzy. As the date grew closer his emotions had intensified. Taking the step in trying to summon the Marassa was big and now that it had failed him, he felt even more helpless. Choking back tears, Sam pushed his body into action, exiting the car and making his way into the house.

He stopped at the kitchen table where Bobby had deposited a few days’ worth of soggy newspapers. The Sunday edition was still dry and lying to the side of the pile wrapped in an orange plastic bag. Sam pulled it out and thumbed through the edge until a burst of color caught his eye. He peeled out the solo comics’ page with Prince Valiant at the top, tore it in half, and folded it into a simple envelope. He slid the amulet and its leather cord between the soft pages and creased the top to seal it.

Too tired to put forth any more effort that evening, Sam went upstairs and placed the envelope in the middle of Dean’s pillow. Dean had been sleeping in their room again on and off now that the weather had grown damp and cold. It was raining heavily tonight so Dean would likely find the temptation to crawl into bed after his shower irresistible. After toeing off his sneakers, Sam curled up on top of the quilt still fully clothed. He intended stay awake to see if Dean would find the amulet but, much like the night before in New Orleans, Sam was out almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Sam was startled awake as his body was shifted. As he regained consciousness, he could feel his jeans being tugged down his narrow hips. Still in the fog that had hung with him since the day before in the city, Sam searched around in the darkness, eyes struggling to focus.

“Dean?” he said weakly.

“Yeah, ‘s me Sam. Just tryin’ to make you more comfortable. Fell asleep in your clothes on top of the blanket. You’re freezing. Let’s get you in bed.” Now that he was awake Dean could be more direct with his movements. He pulled Sam up to seated and folded the sheet and blanket down. He pulled Sam’s jeans the rest of the way off his feet and peeled off his still damp socks.

Sam suddenly became very aware of the chill in the air. He wrapped his skinny arms around his own torso at a weak attempt at warming himself, but his teeth were chattering before Dean had him lying down with the covers pulled up to his neck. Dean pressed the back of his hand against Sam’s forehead, checking his temperature like he had so many times when they were much younger, still on the road with Dad.

“Well, you don’t have a fever. Let me warm you up. Take off your shirt.” Dean crawled under the covers into the narrow bed behind Sam and helped him pull off his t-shirt. Dean was warm and solid and Sam could feel the moisture still clinging to Dean’s freshly showered skin against his back. He brought his arm around Sam’s chest, drawing their bodies snug and tangling their legs together. Sam breathed deeply and absorbed Dean’s warmth, his mind surprisingly empty. His trembling subsided quickly as Dean’s warmth washed over him and his senses slowly awakened. Before long, Sam felt better and more alert than he had in the past 24 hours. He let himself soak in Dean’s warm embrace feeling safe and loved and nostalgic.

“What’s going on with you, Sam?” Dean whispered into the back of Sam’s neck. It was so quiet that Sam wasn’t sure if Dean even meant for him to hear it.

“I know you’re confused, I – I am too.” Dean’s voice trailed off and he pressed his lips against Sam’s skin. The kiss was chaste but warmth spread through Sam’s body and down into his belly where it curled up like a sleeping cat. He sighed happily, feeling more connected to Dean than he had in at least a year. The feeling gave him confidence and steeled his resolve.

“I’m not confused, Dean. I love you. I need you.” Sam’s voice was assured and strong even though he kept his voice low. Dean’s body tensed up and he began to pull away but Sam grabbed Dean’s arm where it was crossing his chest and wrapped it around him again.

“Don’t get up. Please stay. I just need you here, Dean.” Sam’s words carried meaning beyond the moment but for now Dean just being next to him in bed was enough. Dean stopped his retreat but his muscles remained tense and he extracted his leg from where it had come to rest between Sam’s knees. Sam turned his body, wanting to face his brother, and felt the small, horned object scrape against his back as he moved.

Dean had found the necklace. He had found it and put it on. Even if the amulet didn’t do anything, Dean had accepted the gift. Sam felt oddly relieved as he continued to turn his body in Dean’s embrace. Once he was facing his brother, chest to chest, Sam laid his hand over the amulet and smiled, looking up into Dean’s eyes where they shone wide and wet in the dark.

“What’s this for, Sam? Where did you get it?” Dean asked, laying his hand on top of Sam’s and squeezing gently.

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”

“Thank you, Sam. I – I love it.” Dean tilted his head forward, resting his forehead against Sam’s.

“Bobby gave it to me, said it would keep you safe when…” Sam didn’t want to think about Dean leaving right now, he just wanted to enjoy the closeness. He wrapped his arms around Dean and pushed the thought out of his mind.

“Please sleep here.” Sam wasn’t sure if Dean would but he was beyond being afraid. He had taken the final insane step of trying to invoke the Marassa and his soul was tired, burdened with the anxiety and fear he had been bottling up over the past few months. Right now Sam just wanted Dean to love him again. For a brief moment, surrounded in Dean’s warm embrace in the dark, Sam believed that he did. Dean relaxed against Sam, letting the tension drain out of his body. He stroked his hand over Sam’s cheek and down his exposed shoulder and arm.

“Sammy, I – ” Sam looked up into Dean’s eyes again, not realizing how close their faces were until their noses brushed and he felt Dean’s breath ghost over his lips. Sam moved forward, keeping his eyes on Dean’s in the dark as he pressed their lips together. There was no adverse reaction from Dean, no resistance as their mouths joined. His arm snaked around Sam, up the back of his neck and into his shaggy hair, just like it had on Thanksgiving. The movement deepened their kiss and soon their tongues were sliding together, slow and sweet, melting into one another.

There was no urgency to the movements, just languid, smooth kisses that took Sam’s breath away. Sam let himself go. He let the sensations wash over him and closed his eyes. There was golden shimmering light behind his eyelids, matching the feeling of warmth that was spreading from the nerve endings in his lips and tongue flowing out into all of his extremities. He groaned into Dean’s mouth, a sweet but pained sound as something inside him burst open and flooded his senses with all the bottled up emotion he’d been carrying.

Warm streams of tears flowed silently down Sam’s face. A few that dripped down the side of his nose made their kisses taste like seawater. That flavor, the salt of Sam’s tears mingled with taste of their saliva, both savory and sweet, was the last thought to cross Sam’s mind before he gave in to the warm, velvety blackness of sleep.

Sam woke alone in bed. It was daylight, at least mid-morning, and there was no sign of Dean. The large military duffle bag was propped up next to Dean’s bed and it appeared to be fully packed. Sam shook the sleep off and pulled on a pair of sweats and the wrinkled t-shirt he’d worn the day before, both retrieved off the floor. He heard the booming sound of his father’s voice downstairs before he even opened the bedroom door.

Sam paused with his hand on the doorknob and sighed. John had returned for Christmas, his first holiday with the boys in a while. A few years ago Sam probably would have been happy to see his Dad at Christmas. Now, the anger and resentment that he carried for John dominated Sam’s mood. John was here to take the only person Sam loved away from him. Merry fucking Christmas.

Sam quietly observed from the top of the stairs, secretly hoping this was just a dream and he’d wake up in Dean’s arms. Bobby was standing at the stove cooking sausage and eggs while John and Dean sat at the kitchen table. John and Dean had already fallen back into their natural rhythm. Dean was actively seeking his father’s praise, curling his bicep to demonstrate the muscle that had developed in his shoulders and arms. He chattered happily about getting his mile run time down to 13 minutes, smile wide and eyes beaming. Nope, not a dream.

“Heya, Sammy.” John bellowed when his youngest son entered the kitchen. He opened his arms, motioning for Sam to join them at the table. Sam gave John a hug and a weak smile and sat down in the chair next to Dean’s.

They made small talk but Sam spent the rest of the morning mostly lost in his black mood. As Bobby, Dean and John happily downed the greasy breakfast Bobby had prepared, Sam sat quietly pushing his food around on his plate, taking only a few bites.

“Cat got your tongue, Sam?” John inquired after recognizing his youngest son’s disinterest. “How’s school been going?”

Sam wanted to answer but his mind was blank and he was afraid he might burst into tears as easily as speak.

“He picked up a bug or something in the city, didn’tcha Sammy?” Dean was quick to interject. Sam looked at Dean and shrugged, nodding as he looked back at their father. Sam smiled softly to himself and he glanced back at Dean. He could see the black cord of the amulet peeking out from under Dean’s collar.

Sam gave John the Cliff’s Notes version of his school life, classes and grades as he stared at the amulet around Dean’s neck. Knowing Dean was wearing it gave him some solace as he went through the motions that morning and in the remaining days leading up until Christmas.

Dean showed John the Sierra Grande on Christmas Eve. They all went out to the garage together and Dean pulled the tarps back, revealing the vehicle that he had worked so hard on. He and Bobby had just painted it a glossy black just before their trip to New Orleans and Dean put the finishing touches on secretly after John returned. John instantly adored the big, black, menacing truck and gave Dean a big, sideways hug, ruffling his hair and elbowing him. The gift was extremely generous but Dean’s underlying intent was transparent.

“Alright kid, I guess this means I don’t have any choice but to give you the Impala now, right?” John dug the keys out of his pocket and handed them to Dean. “You better take good care of her.”

Dean could barely contain himself and insisted on taking his new baby out for a drive despite having driven it up and down the dirt roads in the parish many times before. Sam guessed it was different now that the car was truly his.

“Don’t expect anything else for your birthday next month.” John feigned gruffness as Dean ran to the Impala where it was parked in front of the main house, starting her up and revving the engine. Sam felt invisible as he watched the car speed down the driveway. He guessed it wasn’t bad to have a practice run for this. He swallowed the tears that welled up as Bobby ushered him into the house to help with dinner.

Once Dean came back from his joyride, he sat on the couch with John chatting with excitement as the TV provided nothing more than background noise. Having two vehicles when they were out on the road again would prove useful in covering more ground. Sam cringed as they openly discussed their next hunt, it was clear they were planning to leave in a few days.

Bobby hung up stockings for all four of them after dinner. This was the closest they ever really got to being festive. They sat together in front of the fire drinking the eggnog Sam helped Bobby make. He’d agreed to join Bobby in the kitchen only after he promised to let the 13 year old have some of the bourbon laden concoction as a reward for his efforts. Before everyone got too tipsy John went and got his bag, sitting it down unceremoniously on the coffee table.

“Got you boys somethin’.” Sam looked over at Dean who was already looking his direction and cocking his eyebrow with the same questioning expression. John was never much for gifts. John reached into the bottom of the bag and brought out a heavy object wrapped in a large piece of black leather. John carefully unwrapped the package revealing two hand guns. The weapons were similar looking, each with a chrome finish and ivory grips but as John slid them across the table to the boys Sam could see they were unique. Sam and Dean both knew their way around guns, having cleaned, loaded, and even fired them in the past but neither boy actually owned one. Sam could see the seriousness in both his father’s face and Dean’s. This was important, only Sam wanted no part of it. It was just another step closer to becoming an orphan as far as he was concerned.

Dean’s pistol was a 45mm Colt 1911 inlaid with ivory colored stag antler. The stainless steel body of the gun was engraved with intricate scroll work. The weapon had clearly been used, yet lovingly cared for. Sam vaguely remembered seeing it before when he was younger and he made regular runs to the weapons store in the Impala’s trunk. Another hand me down from John, Dean would be thrilled.

Sam’s was a 9mm Taurus PT92, also stainless with mother of pearl grips. The gun was more simple and straight forward than the Colt but Sam liked it immediately and slid his hand over the pearlescent grip. He was a bit nervous to pick it up. He wasn’t exactly comfortable with the idea of having his own gun.

“You get Bobby to help you practice with that okay, Sam? Dean and I will be back for a stretch soon and I want to see how you’ve progressed. I know you’re good at your other studies so just approach it like that and you’ll be a pro in no time, kiddo.”

“How’s your aim these days Dean-o?” John and Dean talked about doing some target practice the next day, even though it was Christmas. Sam tried to enjoy the fire and the warmth in his belly from the eggnog but the greatest sense of warmth was in snuggling up next to Dean. He breathed in and tried to capture Dean’s touch and smell as clear as he could in his mind. Eventually, the fear and anger of loss crept in like frost against a windowpane and Sam excused himself to go to bed early. He stayed awake for as long as he could, hoping Dean would snuggle up next to him again but he never came.

Christmas morning Bobby made French toast with leftover eggnog from the night before and they ate in the living room watching How the Grinch Stole Christmas on Bobby’s old console TV. The weather was nice so, while dinner was cooking, all four of them did some target practice out in the salvage yard. Sam was terrible but Dean helped him with his aim and stance and, after burning through a full box of ammo, Sam felt like he could hold his own.

Christmas night and the following days slipped like sand through Sam’s fingers. He felt more connected to Dean than he had all year and yet it was as if he was floating outside of his own body through the experience. Dean acted warmly toward Sam but he seemed stripped of emotion in John’s presence, the good little soldier coming out to replace the brooding young man he’d been in recent months. It was out of Sam’s hands. He steeled himself for the inevitable.

John didn’t even want to wait until after the New Year. He said their next case was important and they had to drive half way across the country to pick up the scent. So, it was just like that, only two days after Christmas and Dean and John were in the driveway hugging Bobby and Sam goodbye.

“Dean…” Sam’s voice creaked in his throat. Sam didn’t want to cry in front of John so he just hugged his brother close and did everything he could to keep his composure.

“I’ll be back before you know it.” Dean said loudly enough for Bobby and John to hear. He pulled Sam closer and buried his face in his neck. The nubby horns of the amulet pressed against Sam’s chest through the thin fabric of Dean’s shirt.

“I’m gonna miss you too Sammy, so fucking much. I will think about you every day. I love you.” The last part was almost a whisper. Dean’s plush lips slid against Sam’s ear in a vague semblance of a kiss as he pulled away. His eyes were shining damp with tears in the pale winter light. He touched Sam’s cheek with the back of his hand before turning around and climbing into the driver’s seat of the Impala. And like that, John and Dean were gone.

The next thing he knew, it was twilight and he sat alone on his bed in the room that he now had all to himself. It was the first of many nights that he cried himself to sleep. 


	5. Whispers in the Dark

It was foggy for Sam after that. The dark void inside him seemed to expand and swallow him whole. The blanket of quiet that filled the house without Dean’s obnoxious jokes and cheerful laugh was almost unbearable at times. Bobby felt it too and tried to console Sam but he was in strange, borderline uncomfortable territory with his surrogate son’s current emotional state. Instead of addressing the issue head on, Bobby just did his best to distract Sam with chores and research, hoping the despair would pass once school started again.

Sam’s misery made him tired and out of focus. He struggled at times to even do simple things like hold a conversation or read. Sam's sleeping problems returned with a vengeance as well. He had trouble sleeping in general on and off since coming to live with Bobby. His early childhood had been spent sleeping in musty hotel beds shared with Dean or curled up in the backseat of the Impala so it was no surprise to Bobby, or anyone else, when Sam took some time adjusting to the comfort and quiet of having his own bed. Dean’s absence made the small bedroom feel more like a prison cell and Sam’s mind struggled to find the peace needed to sleep.

Once winter break was over and the school year resumed things did not improve much. Sam did well on homework and tests but the insomnia led to him dozing off during class several times, ending up in the principal's office twice by the end of January. His grades were holding strong so, aside from some after school detention, there had been no other repercussions.

It was a rainy, cool Friday in February when Sam had the first nightmare. He had finally stopped tracking the days since Dean left in the back of his binder but still knew by heart that it had been exactly 42 days since he saw the Impala’s tail lights disappear into the dust at the end of the salvage yard driveway. He tossed and turned all night and almost missed the bus again that morning.

To make matters worse, Sam was feeling extra ‘sensitive’ and had a semi-erection on and off throughout the entire day. There was no explanation for it other than his body being exhausted and his brain refusing to calm down. He made it through all his classes without falling asleep but he was ridiculously distracted and terrified someone would see his hard on. Thank God it was hoodie weather and he was able to disguise his arousal by keeping his hands jammed in his oversized sweatshirt’s front pockets.

He almost fell asleep on the bus ride home but the driver hit a rain disguised pot hole that jarred Sam from his snooze only a few stops from home. He finished his homework quickly before dinner and excused himself as soon as he was finished eating to try and catch up on sleep. Bobby looked at Sam with concern in his eyes, like he did regularly these days, but he didn’t protest Sam’s departure.

Unfortunately, once he was under the covers Sam realized he caught a second wind and, once again, was unable to fall asleep. He sighed in frustration and laid in the dark staring at the ceiling cycling. His body cycled in and out of arousal but there was no sign of the fatigue that had plagued him during the day. He resisted for at least an hour before deciding to masturbate.

Unlike most like teen boys with their own room, Sam didn’t really feel comfortable touching himself in his own bed. He wasn’t very good at exploring his own body and had only gotten himself off a few times since realizing he could. Even then it was always in the shower, the only place he ever had real privacy before Dean left. It always left him feeling hollow and ashamed, made it hard to look Dean in the eye after. Unlike most teen boys, Sam had only ever masturbated thinking about his older brother.

Tonight he was desperate for something to mellow his racing thoughts. He didn’t care how empty and hopeless he would feel the next day, he needed some fucking rest. He started the process in a very reserved manner, clammy hands sliding over the covers down his abdomen, caressing the protrusions of his hip bones. He stroked back up his body again, thumbing over his nipples through his t-shirt. He almost stopped when the groan that escaped his own throat reverberated loudly in the small space.

After a few minutes of dragging his hands over the fabric, Sam pulled the sheet down and let his fingers smooth up under his shirt. The friction against his skin had Sam breathing harder and becoming more assured with his touch. He slipped his right hand under the waistband of his shorts and wrapped his fingers around his now fully erect cock. He held it flush to his stomach for a moment as he used his other hand to yank the waistband down his hips, taking the sheet with them. Sam stroked up and down his length slowly a few times and pinched his nipple again with his free hand. He was pleasantly surprised at how much easier it was to get into than when he had done it before in the shower. His body was spread out comfortably on the mattress and the warm, dark room around him cradled him gently. His skin seemed extra receptive and his cock felt heavenly, like silk in his hand. Surprisingly he wasn’t even thinking about Dean.

Sam languidly stroked himself, mapping out the veins and ridges of his own flesh, not really thinking about anything, just enjoying the sensation of his own hand on his smooth skin. He floated there mentally, lost in the sensation, nowhere near coming and yet bathed in pleasure. He was conscious of his own breathy moans but was no longer worried about the noise. He trailed the fingers of his free hand up his side, along the edge of his ribcage, causing the skin of his torso to break out in goose bumps. He whimpered at the added sensation and the spurt of precome that resulted as it slicked him up even further.

The dark warmth of the room caused an almost sensory deprivation like effect and Sam swore he was starting to hallucinate. Out of nowhere, a bright, flowery smell – like cheap perfume – filled his nostrils. For a moment, the change in the air was so intense he almost stopped jacking off and jumped out of bed to see who else was in the room with him. The pleasure was too good and his body was too leaden and lethargic to move. His hand kept pumping regardless of what was going on in his sleep-deprived mind. He fisted the sheet with his other hand and closed his eyes again, focusing again on only the sensation, trying to visualize his orgasm and the flood of dopamine to his brain he hoped would help him sleep.

Sam slowly became aware that beneath the pleasant, flowery fragrance he could also smell a whole catalog of other things that should not be present in his bedroom. Moldy, old hotel room. Leather. Gun oil. The stale odor of cigarette smoke that clings to clothes and hair after spending all night in a seedy dive bar hustling pool. The distinct odor of male sweat. It reminded him of Dean.

Sam’s hand stilled around his shaft as his tired, lust addled brain started to question the intensity of his sensory response. Sam groaned out loud as the sensation of a soft, spit slick tongue slid over the tip of his throbbing cock. He opened his eyes with a start and looked down at it as another large sprut of precome erupted from his slit, shiny in the low light. Of course there was no one there, Sam was alone, but he could still feel soft, small hands ghosting over his skin.

Suddenly, his cock was sheathed in tight, wet moisture. Sam’s head slammed back onto the pillow and he gasped for air at both the shock and pleasure he was feeling. There was a tongue lapping along the underside of his cock and then his full length was engulfed in someone’s mouth, the head of his prick pressed into the back of a willing throat. He could feel it gulping around him, hear the wet suction. What the fuck was happening?

Sam gripped the blankets on either side of his hips until his knuckles were white, closing his eyes tightly, almost paralyzed by the completely bizarre situation. God it was so hot and wet and… Sam’s body was in control and his mind was too fragile to fight back. The panic and fear subsided as Sam gave himself over to whatever was happening – too tired, too desperate, and too confused to even really care.

"Dean.” The word was so loud in the tiny room, louder than Sam’s breathy moans. It was a woman's voice, young and hoarse with arousal, and it was coming from directly above him. Sam’s eyes snapped open, heart racing. At first he could only see his empty, dark room and then, like theatre lights coming up at the end of a movie, the image before him changed. Light flowed in from an unknown source to his left and there she was above him, materializing into his vision.

She was petite with dishwater blonde hair framing her delicate, but not quite pretty, face. Her eyes were shut tightly and she gnawed her bottom lip as she rode Sam’s hips. Her small tits bounced with the rhythm of her pelvis grinding against his. Sam could see her, feel her, and smell her as real as if she was actually there but he knew she wasn’t real. Sam’s mind struggled to put the puzzle together. He knew the pieces were there but his mind was a blur with sensation and lack of sleep.

Then, as if a switch were flipped, reality slammed into Sam like a sledgehammer. She had said “Dean.” She was fucking Dean. Sam was inside Dean’s mind somehow, seeing events through his brother's eyes. Dean was fucking this girl, not him. Dean was fucking her and Sam could feel every moment as if it were happening to him.

Sam gasped, gripping the sheets even tighter, eminently aware of his approaching orgasm. His reaction was as much at the acknowledgement of the bond with Dean as the sensation of this strange woman taking him inside her.

"Sammy?" This time it was definitely Dean's voice, rough and deep with lust. He felt Dean’s voice rumble his chest and echo in his ears at the same time. Sam groaned and his balls tightened up. He gripped the base of his dick, wanting the sensation to last. The girl was too far gone to notice what Dean had said so she continued bouncing and grinding happily as she reached her own orgasm.

"Fuck, Sammy. I know you're there, I can feel you. Christ." Dean whispered desperately below the moans and cries of the blonde on top of him. Sam tried to form words but his mouth and tongue seemed paralyzed. He heard what he thought was his own voice moaning and panting in the small room in Louisiana underneath the static of what Dean was hearing. He kept a firm grip on his cock as if it were the only thing anchoring him to sanity as pleasure and fear rippled through him, head to toe.

His hands, Dean’s hands, were moving and yet he could see his own fist around his cock in the darkness of the room. Somehow overlaid on top of the other image like a negative the motel room, light streamed in from the parking lot, and Dean’s one night stand grinding on top of him came into focus again. The effect was dizzying.

Dean’s hands slid up the girl’s thighs as he continued to thrust up into her, encouraging her to keep going. She had definitely climaxed but seemed eager to get Dean across the finish line as well. Dean’s hands moved onto to his own stomach, Sam could feel it. Warm, calloused fingers slid up Sam’s abdomen, the pads of Dean’s fingers sending ripples of bliss to all of Sam’s nerve endings. They were Dean’s fingers on his own body, and yet Sam’s body, at the same time. God, Dean was touching him. It wasn’t real but it was certainly effective.

Dean slid his thumbs over his nipples and they hardened even further. He took them between his thumb and forefinger, pinching and tugging gently. Sam moaned loudly and bucked his hips. It felt so good he was barely able to breathe.

"You like that, baby?" Dean growled, low and sweet. He was talking to Sam.

“Jesus Christ, Dean – YES.” Sam choked out, fist still around his straining erection.

Then there was movement. It was confusing, arousing, and strange. Dean was sitting up, pulling his lady close. He kissed her deeply, still pinching one of his own nipples. The sensation tethered Sam, reminding him Dean knew he was there. Whatever he was doing, it was for Sam. Not for Dean, not for the nameless piece of tail he picked up at the bar that night. Then Dean spoke again.

“Want you to do something for me, Sheila.” He whispered sweetly into the girl’s ear. “You ever rim a guy before?”

“Mmmm… well you are a dirty boy, aren’t you? You want that?” She grinned, fox-like. Her accent was thick, Boston maybe? Sam wasn’t sure. He wondered how many girls Dean had asked to do this.

“Dirty as they come,” Dean affirmed, “want you to lick me and finger me til’ I get off. Can you do that honey?” She nodded and licked her lips, enthusiastically sliding up off Dean’s cock. Dean flipped over onto the bed, completely disorienting Sam for a moment as down became up and up became down. Sam didn’t trust himself to turn over too so he just closed his eyes and let go of his dick, letting it bob up against his stomach leaving a wet smear of precome to cool in the night air. It reminded him he was still in his room, alone.

Dean was up on his knees, spreading his legs for Sheila. He reached down and tugged the lip of the condom that was digging into the skin around the base of his cock. He yanked it off in one fluid stroke and jacked himself a few times now that he was free of the latex prison.

“Come on baby, I’m close, don’t be shy.” Dean’s voice was rough, pleading. Sheila knelt behind Dean and spread his cheeks wide with her small, soft hands. As she began to delicately lick at the exposed flesh, Sam heard Dean whisper into the pillow.

"This is for you Sammy. You feel that? Gonna do this to you when I see you again." Sam’s cock spasmed against his stomach and he groaned loudly, orgasm imminent.

“Don’t come yet baby boy, wait for me.” Dean growled. Then louder, Dean encouraged Sheila, “Come on honey, don’t be gentle, get in there. Gonna come for you so fuckin’ hard.” Dean wiggled his ass back gently into Sheila’s face and she took the hint. Pointing her tongue, she circled it around Dean’s hole, moistening the area thoroughly. Then she honed in on the pucker at the center, pushing forward, and her tongue slid into him.

The sensation was like nothing Sam had ever felt. He clenched down around the intrusion and cried out, desperate to hold out for Dean. Other than flicking a fingertip over his ass once while jacking off in the shower, Sam had never experimented there and had no idea he would be so sensitive.

Sam could hear Dean groaning encouragement to Shelia, asking for more, asking for her fingers. She obliged quickly, pulling away for a moment and slicking up two slender digits in her mouth before teasing him open and slipping them inside. Dean was thrusting his hips back into her and stroking his cock. Sam was at the mercy of his brother’s movements and held on for dear life, trying not to explode before Dean. The feeling of being penetrated and being one with Dean was like drowning and flying at the same time.

“Fuck, yes do that again Shelia.” Dean groaned, thrusting back over and over. Dean was stroking himself roughly and Sheila was twisting her fingers with every thrust. It was like light exploding behind Sam’s eyes when he came. He knew it was Dean’s orgasm that pulled him over the edge, some deep part of them was somehow bonded and amplifying one another’s pleasure. It was like coming in stereo.

Sam’s hands clutched the sheets and he bit his lip so hard he drew blood in an effort to stay quiet. He knew if he got any louder he might wake Bobby. That didn’t stop Dean. Dean was cursing and moaning loudly as he came, the hot flood of come over Dean’s fist made his own hand feel warm and wet. Sam’s own load was splashed across his chest, a few drops made it all the way up to his neck and clavicle. Sam laid there trembling and panting, his vision wavering, like a mirage in the mid day sun. He could hear Dean’s breathy sighs and wanted to cling to his brother in this raw moment.

“Dean.” Sam’s voice was no more than a croak but he could feel Dean acknowledge and smile and then, without warning, the connection evaporated. Sam was alone again in the dark on his bed, hands numb from being tangled in the sheets or strangling his poor abused cock. His lip was sore from biting it too hard and his chest and stomach were covered in his cooling come. Sam trembled at the loss of Dean as much as moisture on his skin in the cool night air. He knew he should get up and clean himself off but his mind had finally caught up with the exhaustion of his body and he quickly fell asleep.

When Sam’s alarm went off the next morning, it was as if only a few minutes had passed. He was confused and more than a little concerned but there wasn’t much he could do. He wasn’t really sure if what happened that night was real. He had been suffering insomnia and knew it could cause intense hallucinations.

Fortunately, Sam slept easier for a while after that, sliding into an easy, dreamless slumber most nights without trouble. He read up on as much dream lore as he could find in Bobby’s library but there wasn’t anything concrete on what he experienced. He even pulled out his research on the Marassa and the amulet from where he had stashed it between the mattress and box spring but there wasn’t anything about dreams or the type of connection he seemed to have experienced.

Sam was stumped but his sleep patterns improved and he started feeling a bit better, almost like a “normal teenager” most days. Alone in the quiet of his room, the darkness crept in and he found himself sweating between the sheets with Dean’s voice harsh and almost real in his ears. At first the sessions were followed by nagging feelings of shame and regret but he was getting to know his body and it got easier to cope. Sam began to embrace his new found skill at pleasuring himself and learned to enjoy the relaxation he experienced in both his body and mind after he came. He still felt a deep melancholy and ache of loss that he was unable to shake but, by the time spring arrived, his days of being a walking open wound were over.


	6. Howlin’ for You

_**March 20, 1997** _

After experiencing solid, mostly dreamless sleep for over a month, the shock of another vivid nightmare tore into Sam’s subconscious like a blade. He woke with a start, his body stiff with anticipation and fear, muscles pumping with adrenaline and skin covered in a cold sweat. He was oddly aware of where he was, what he was doing this time.Sam could smell the dank musk of the beast he was hunting, the blood, the gunpowder, and his own sweat.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as more of the scenario unfolded in his mind. His vision was blurring at the edges and he knew – it was happening again. Sam’s dream-self wasn't the one hunting the werewolf. It was Dean and the hunt was real. Sam was acutely aware of the thoughts going through Dean’s mind: the strategy, Dad’s words of warning back at the motel, and the knowledge that the creature was hunting him and not the other way around.

Sam tried to regain control, shaking his head and consciously trying to stop the images from Dean’s mind transposing over his own. His heart pounded in his chest and his lungs hurt from running. It was all too vivid, too real, and Sam’s control slipped away. As the final remnants of sleep melted, Sam acknowledged he would not be able to stop it. He was somehow tied to Dean and was seeing, feeling, even smelling everything his brother was experiencing. They were linked. This was no case of Sam's over active teenage imagination. Sam's blood ran cold in his veins as he finally connected the dots. The spell had worked, it was the only explanation, and in an instant Sam wanted nothing more than to take it all back.

Sam was only lost in his realization for a few moments before his consciousness slipped firmly into the space behind Dean’s eyes. There was shouting, loud blasts of one, maybe two, weapons being discharged in close proximity, and the roar of the werewolf. Sam tried to stay still and strong for Dean but he could feel his brother there, scared and confused, trapped by the same bizarre merging of vision as when they shared Shelia only a few weeks before. Dean was running, shrubbery scraped against his face, tore into his clothes as he ran in the dark woods.

“Dean, I’m so sorry!” Sam stuttered in the dark. The next sound out of his throat was a violent gasp, Dean’s distressed cry echoed in Sam’s ears and pain exploded down from his shoulder to the center of his back, hot and raw as he felt his flesh ripping under the monster's claws.

Sam’s center of gravity shifted and he knew Dean was falling. Sam gripped the sheets, hunched over and paralyzed as Dean's face smashed into the wet earth. Sam could feel his own skin and bones grind into the ground. Dean had been hurt and it was because of Sam.

Sam was sobbing uncontrollably with tears streaming down his face when Bobby found him. Woken by Sam’s shouts of agony, Bobby entered the room with a shotgun trained on the boy’s bed, prepared to kill whatever was hurting him. Sam felt Dean there, unconscious in the mud, countless miles away, alone. There was no more sound, no more smell, just blurry vision and the feeling he had been hit by a truck.

“Bobby, it’s Dean. No… NO! DEAN! It’s all my fault.” Sam choked out the words between sobs and tear filled gasps. Sam realized his words were nonsense to Bobby but he couldn’t control the flood of emotion that spilled forth. Bobby held Sam close and tried to calm him as best he could. It took a few moments for the final threads of mental connection to dissipate and Sam’s vision to return to normal. His body was still wracked with pain, his lungs ached and his skin felt torn and slashed.

“It’s alright boy, calm down. You okay. Nothin’ gon’ hurt you.” Bobby stroked Sam’s hair until his breathing returned to normal. He tucked Sam in and brought him a shot of whiskey and a warm glass of milk. He helped Sam sit upright and supervised until he drank them both down, whiskey first, then the milk, his body still trembling. Bobby didn’t ask any questions and Sam didn’t try to explain. Sleep came easily after that and was blessedly dreamless.

Sam wasn’t sure what woke him but it was sometime in the afternoon. He found himself out of bed and standing motionless in the hallway above the stairs. The sound of Bobby shouting into the phone in the kitchen pulled Sam into a somewhat less groggy state.

“God damn it, John! This mess’ gonna get one or both of these boys killed. You shoulda’ seen Sam.” Sam suspected Bobby had called John instead of the other way around. He stood gripping the stair railing tightly, not trusting his legs.

“You better think about how far you really willin’ to go.” Bobby slammed the phone down, face red, tears in his eyes.

"Is Dean hurt, Bobby?” Sam’s voice was weak but Bobby reacted to it instantly. Ignoring the question, Bobby rushed up to Sam’s side, checking his temperature and helping him downstairs to sit at the kitchen table. Sam’s stomach growled loudly.

“Sit. I’ll fix you somethin’ to eat.”

Sam knew Bobby wasn't likely to be forthcoming about what he found out from his Dad. John had a strict “need to know” policy when it came to hunting but Sam wasn't going to let it rest, he was way too worried about Dean. The sick feeling in his stomach hadn't passed even though the pain in his body was only a sense memory. He estimated he had slept at least 10 hours after the episode and it was clear Bobby hadn't even tried waking Sam for school.

“Is Dean okay?” Sam was stern this time. He needed to know. Bobby stopped what he was doing at the counter. His shoulders slumped and he visibly sighed. He turned to face Sam.

“Yeah, kiddo. He’s hurt but he’s gonna be fine.” Bobby’s eyes were distant but sincere. Sam thought about pressing for more but he was still rattled from the night before. He nodded his head, letting Bobby knew he understood, and leaned forward on the table resting his forehead against his crossed arms. Bobby fixed him some eggs and heated some beaudoin that was leftover from the night before. Sam ate as much as he could, washing it down with OJ, but his stomach felt off and he slinked back up to his room as Bobby washed up.

Sam felt well enough to return to school the following Monday but, from then on, his sleep was marred with feverish flashes, too realistic to be called dreams. He caught parts of conversations between Dean and John but never had the context to tell what was happening. He felt the glare of the headlights in his eyes and the rumble of the Impala’s engine underneath him when Dean was driving. He experienced the adrenaline rush and creeping fear that Dean felt during hunts. Sam passed the next few weeks in a daze, not really present in his reality. It was worse suffering than he could have imagined. He constantly worried and wondered what Dean was thinking on the other side of the very obvious link his spell had conjured.

Soon it was spring and Bobby busied Sam with the beginning of tourist season. Bobby made his annual calls to the local travel agents that helped him line up customers from New Orleans, Baton Rouge and Slidell and let them know he could start taking folks out again on weekends. Without Dean, the number of tours he could feasibly run was diminished and the amount of chores that fell to Sam more than doubled. It helped keep Sam busy though and it was good for his mental state to be distracted in the mundane.

As soon as Dean had been hurt Sam desperately tried to find ways to appease the Marassa or end the curse but his resources were limited. He refused to go to Bobby for help. Doing so would require explanations that Sam didn’t have. He combed through all the books that helped him in the first place and read fifty more that led to nothing more than dead ends. He didn’t have a lead on any experts that weren’t close personal friends of Bobby so that avenue was out too. Sam was truly stuck. All he could do was immerse himself in school and chores and hope that the childlike spirits would have mercy on him and Dean and simply leave once they realized there was no healing the broken relationship. You can’t mend two parts of a soul that are separated by so many miles and so much pain.

It was getting close to Sam’s birthday and they had only heard from Dean and John a few times since the werewolf attack. Sam talked to Dean on the phone about a month after he was injured but, with Bobby and John in the rooms on their respective sides of the conversation, they didn’t breach the subject both of them needed to talk about. Sam could feel the pain and longing in Dean’s voice and, while the knowledge that Dean reciprocated Sam’s affection would have soothed him previously, it only served to make Sam’s almost nightly fantasies about his brother end in tears.


	7. The Only One

_**May 2, 1997** _

Sam’s 14th birthday fell on a Friday that year. His chemistry lab partner Lindsay remembered and brought him a cupcake which prompted their teacher to make the whole class sing ‘happy birthday.’ Sam turned beet red, the unwanted attention made him want to crawl into a hole and die. Even so, he was excited for the weekend. Sure, there would be chores and tours but Sam knew Bobby would make him whatever he wanted for dinner and he was hopeful that he would hear from Dean. Some small part of him was convinced that maybe that he’d arrive home to find Dean and John there, waiting to wish him a happy birthday.

As usual, Bobby was out on the swamp with his mid-day tour when Sam arrived. It was silly but Sam was disappointed that the Impala wasn’t parked in the driveway when the bus dropped him off. He knew he had a few hours to do homework before Bobby would return and have dinner ready. The sadness was eating at him more than normal so, instead of opening his backpack, Sam decided to take a shower and lie down.

“Happy Birthday, Sammy.” Sam awoke with a start at the sound of Dean’s voice, his limbs jerking up in shock, creating the momentary sensation of falling. The disorientation lingered and Sam’s heart raced from being startled but he realized almost instantly that he was alone in his room. He looked around as his eyes adjusted, confirming that Dean was not actually there.

“How… Dean…?” His voice was barely a whisper but he knew his brother could hear him.

“I don’t know Sam. I was just lying here thinking about you, Dad’s out somewhere, and...” Dean choked back what sounded like a sob. Sam felt the familiar pain in his chest and knew Dean was crying.

“I miss you so much, Dean.” Sam was crying too, tears trickled into his hairline as he looked up at the ceiling. The wavy blur of juxtaposition with Dean’s ceiling was almost making him seasick.

“I’ll find a way Sammy, I swear. I can’t do this – I can’t be apart from you anymore. It’s like part of me is missing. I’m lost.”

“Leave Dean. Leave Dad. Take the Impala, come back, please, just…” Sam begged unashamedly. He felt Dean sigh.

“I think Dad’s getting us closer to the thing that killed Mom, Sam. He won’t tell me much but I’m pretty sure… I think it’s a demon.”

“What?” They had hunted wendigos, vampires, ghouls, ghosts, and a whole other host of creatures but never a demon.

“I know it sounds crazy but we were hunting something a few towns back and this guy… Sam, he had eyes that were solid black and when Dad shot him black smoke came out of his mouth. Dad’s trying to find a weapon, it’s an antique revolver. He said it will kill the thing if we ever find it. They can’t be killed otherwise. They just go find another human to possess. I’m scared Sam, I don’t think I’m strong enough – not anymore – but I have to help Dad, we have to get this thing... for Mom. For us.”

Sam rested his hands on his chest, lining them up with Dean’s. A few minutes passed, the tears slowed and their breathing synched up in the quiet. The silence became blissful and, for what was probably the first time in his young life, Sam felt whole. He was unable to tell where Dean started and he began. The sadness in his heart seemed to loosen its stranglehold for a moment.

“Sam, why is this happening? Why are we linked like this?” Dean’s voice was quiet and meek, so unlike him. Sam swallowed hard. He couldn’t tell Dean the truth about what he did, not yet. For a moment he wondered if just thinking about the Marassa and the spell would be enough for Dean to know it too.

“It means something, Sam. You’re part of me. You’re… my other half. I’m going to stop trying to escape it, I promise. I love you and when we’re together again, Sam…”

A door slammed loudly. Sam couldn’t tell if was in Dean’s motel room or in his room at Bobby’s. Before he could even think to say goodbye, the connection evaporated and Dean was gone.

“Heya kiddo. I’m thinkin’ a crawfish boil tonight? Whaddaya say?” Bobby enthusiastically swung the door to Sam’s room open without even knocking. The smile on his face faded quickly when he saw Sam lying down and starting at the ceiling with a tear-streaked face.

“Oh hell, I’m sorry Sam.” Bobby shut the door quietly.

Bobby was at the kitchen table with a glass of whiskey next to him when Sam made it downstairs, wearing the best fake happy face he could muster. Sam knew Bobby saw right through it but they both played along.

“I thought we’d wait for crawfish until Dean comes back, if that’s okay with you Bobby.” Sam said, trying to smile.

“’Course, Sam. Sorry for even suggesting it, I know it’s his favorite. Guess I’m jus’ really missin’ him too, you know? We’ll try callin’ your Dad later if they don’t call first, sound good? Now, whatcha feel like eatin’, birthday boy?”

Bobby ended up fixing Sam a big pan of lasagna with zucchini, spinach, and mushrooms and they ate out on the porch together enjoying the mild night. Sam chuckled when he thought about Dean picking out all the vegetable matter and grumbling because there was no sausage. Sam was still upset but he felt a soft warmth inside him thinking about Dean’s words from when they were joined before. Just knowing Dean wanted them to be together again would be enough to numb the pain for a while.

Sam’s nightmares continued on and off after that. When Dean experienced intense emotions, Sam’s mind lit up with a joined sensation. The ones that occurred when Sam was awake only seemed to bleed though when his mind was idle. Those that took place at night were always more intense but Sam was able to manage a broken sleep through most of them.

Two weeks into Sam’s summer break, he woke in a cold sweat shortly after dozing off. It was past one in the morning but it was still upwards of 90 degrees and oppressively humid. Summers in Louisiana didn’t give much relief from the heat, even at night. Despite the temperature, Sam’s body was shivering, achy and cold. Sam’s mind was foggy and his physical symptoms were confusing. While he recalled a fitful sleep, he wasn’t sure what was going on. Sam sat in the dark silence of his room letting his mind reach out for his brother. Sam quickly grew concerned as he could only sense the same empty abyss he’d felt after the werewolf attack had left Dean injured and knocked out. The thought gave Sam goose bumps and, almost as if his own morbid thoughts conjured it, he heard the rumble of an engine and the roar of tires on gravel down Bobby’s long driveway.

The next few minutes were a disorienting whirl of activity as Sam ran franticly into Bobby’s room, rousing him quickly. They both rushed downstairs and out the front door to greet the vehicle that came screeching to a halt in front of the house in a storm of dust and gravel. As Sam feared, it was John in the Sierra Grande with Dean bloody and unconscious in the passenger seat. John was talking franticly to Bobby but Sam couldn’t hear his words at first. The shock of seeing Dean torn and bloody, lifeless in the cab of the truck in the middle of the night knocked the breath from his lungs and emptied his mind of all rational thought. There were deep slash wounds across Dean’s cheek, chest and calf. Sam stood helplessly watching as John picked Dean up like he weighed nothing and carried him into the house.

Sam followed them into the living room. This was really happening. Whatever attacked Dean must have taken him by surprise. It must have happened so fast that Sam’s link with Dean was severed too quickly to alert him to the situation. It was for the best, this way he could help instead of being wracked with trauma aftershocks like he had been the last time Dean was injured. Sam pulled himself out of his moment of shock, transitioning into a state of solution-oriented calm to help care for his brother.

Sam left Dean’s side to get a big pot of hot water, every clean towel he could find, and the first aid kit from under the kitchen sink. Bobby had Dean laid out on the couch and was cutting away his bloody undershirt and jeans when Sam came back into the living room with the supplies. Bobby didn’t touch the amulet that still hung around Dean’s neck. He just pushed it aside so it didn’t touch the wounds on Dean’s chest. In addition to the deep lacerations crisscrossing Dean’s body, John also thought his right shoulder was probably dislocated. The skin of his shoulder was swollen and already turning purple.

Sam methodically wiped the blood and dirt away from his brother’s body so they could better assess the damage. He put compresses against all of the deep wounds, more than a dozen of them in total, and got out everything they needed to stitch him up from the first aid kit. The slashes were several hours old and the blood was clotting so at least he wasn’t in danger of bleeding out.

“We’re gonna have to take care of dat shoulder. It’s not broken, definitely dislocated though. I will be easier if we do it now.” Bobby was right, it would be better to pop it back in place with Dean unconscious. Sam got out of the way as John and Bobby lifted Dean’s limp body up and turned him the other way on the couch so his right side was accessible.

Bobby held Dean’s elbow at a 90 degree angle and slowly rotated his upper arm inward, gripping his shoulder joint. He moved the arm out again and pushed up and there was a loud, disgusting pop as the joint slid back into place. Dean didn’t move or make a sound. Sam saw the looks of concern on Bobby and John’s faces but he kept his focus on the matter at hand. Dean’s wounds needed closing. He began stitching up one of the gashes on Dean’s leg silently, biting his lip in concentration.

“What the hell did this to him, John?” Bobby asked, frustration and anger evident in his voice.

“It was a daeva. A demon summoned ‘em. We got so close this time Bobby… But those bastards, they’re doing everything they can to keep it outta my hands.” John slumped in the armchair and buried his face in his hands. Bobby went to the cabinet and got a bottle of his home brewed ‘hunter’s helper’, sitting it on the table next to John.

“Well, it’s gonna be months before he’ll be of any help to you after dis. You’ve gotta let him heal up right while you keep chasin’, John. If it’s meant to be you’ll have it in your hands eventually. Now let’s get you cleaned up too. Sam’s got Dean taken care of.” Bobby helped John stand up and handed him the bottle of booze.

“Sam, you help Dean get better. I need you both ready to fight. He’ll train you up when he’s better and when I get my hands on that gun you’re coming with us to put down that bastard that took your mother from us.” John took a several large gulps of Bobby’s moonshine and limped to the bathroom to strip down and see how bad his own injuries were.

“He’s probably best to stay on the couch tonight, Sam. When you’re done with those stitches, head off to bed and we’ll carry him up to your room in the morning.” Bobby said softly. Sam barely looked up, just nodded his head in acknowledgement. Bobby followed John into the other room to help patch him up.

Sam couldn’t bring himself to leave Dean’s side once the stitches were completed and bandages applied. He curled up on the floor next to the couch with his head propped up on the only towel he didn’t use to sop up Dean’s blood. Surprisingly, he must have gotten at least a few hours of sleep, waking up to the smell of coffee and bacon. Sam decided to forego both for a shower to clean the stains off his hands and relax muscles stiff from a night sleeping on the hard wood floor. He stayed under the hot stream of water until his fingers pruned up and his mind was as foggy as the humid air in the bathroom.

When Sam went back into his room, Dean was already tucked into his bed, face still slack and very pale. Dean was in a state closer to death than sleep. Sam slipped on a pair of boxers after drying off and pulled back the blankets covering Dan, slotting himself in the narrow bed next to his comatose brother. Dean’s skin was hot against Sam’s damp, freshly showered body. He still smelled like blood and sweat but Sam buried his face into the side of his neck anyway, wrapping his limbs around him, careful to avoid his bandaged wounds.

Over the next few days, Sam refused to leave Dean’s side except to use the bathroom and have a meal here and there. He was fierce in his determination to care for his brother and neither Bobby nor John questioned it. Dean would have done the same for Sam. When he changed the bandages the next day, he gave Dean a thorough sponge bath. He propped Dean up on pillows, spooned chicken and stars into his mouth, and got him to drink water from a straw.

When Sam slept next to Dean he could feel his brother’s consciousness, struggling in the murky blackness. Sam’s dream-self was calling out to him but, while he could tell Dean could hear him, Dean was not communicating back. Sam was worried but hopeful. Caring for Dean gave him a single-minded purpose and he was no longer plagued with the dreams now that Dean was home. He honestly felt better than he had since before Dean left, probably even before that. Sam felt terrible that his own well being seemed to be improving while Dean was fighting for his life.

John came into the room only once to check on Dean. Sam had lost track of the days since they came back but it felt like at least a week had passed, maybe more.

“Sammy, this fight is just starting and we are all gonna have a part to play. For now, you’ve got to trust me, son. This thing, the thing that killed your mom, it knows I’m close. It knows I’m gonna kill it. We’re gonna kill it. Not just exorcise it or send it back to Hell—actually kill it. I need you both strong for me, united. Can you do that for me, Sam?”

Sam looked up at his father, taking in the broken shell of a man he had become. There was a fire in his eyes that Sam didn’t remember seeing before, at least not in a long time. For a moment he was inspired, he could see what Dean aspired to within the man, understood the hero worship.

“Yeah, Dad. I can. We can. Together.” He looked down at his brother, his freckles standing out more than usual against his pallor, features too delicate and feminine for this world. Sam felt the tears on his cheeks before he realized he was crying and before he knew it, sobs wracked his body. John sat down on the bed and put his hand on Sam’s shoulder as he leaned over his brother and cried.

“He’s gonna be alright, Sam. With you takin’ such good care of him, how can he not be? He just needs time. Now I’ve gotta go find the weapon that’s gonna help us kill this bastard so you stay strong for me. Bobby’s coming with me to pick up the Impala for Dean, he’ll be back in a few days. We need you to hold down the fort, okay? I’ll be back as soon as I can. Keep me posted on your progress.”

Sam was still crying when John left. He crawled back in bed with Dean and rested his swollen, tear strained eyes. He wasn’t certain how much time passed after that, he drifted in and out of sleep but his mind was tangled with strange visions, Dean’s voice, and his own crying out in desperation.

He was startled awake when he heard the sound of a child giggling softly. The laugh was too real, too close, and it made goose bumps prick up all over his body. He scanned the room, finding it empty was no surprise. He was groggy and starving. Sam rubbed his eyes as his stomach growled loudly and twitched like it was trying to escape his body.

“Sammy?” Dean’s voice startled him so much Sam almost leapt off the bed.

“Dean, Jesus Christ.” Sam blurted out. Dean was staring up at Sam, eyes wide but bloodshot. His lips were chapped and his voice was scratchy and low.

“Oh God, Dean. I’m so sorry.” Sam found himself crying again, cradling Dean’s face in his hands. “It’s all my fault. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Shh, Sammy. I’ll be fine. It’s not your fault, don’t say that. Don’t think it.” Dean pulled Sam’s body against his. Sam felt Dean cringe from the pain as Sam’s shoulder bumped into his injured one. Dean lowered his lips to Sam’s ear, whispering.

“I want to kiss you so bad but I swear to God it’s like something died in my mouth. Can you help me take a shower, brush my teeth and stuff?” They both chuckled and lay together a bit longer as Sam’s tears dried up.

Dean was awake and he was acting like himself again even though he was definitely worse for wear. Relief washed over Sam and he went back into ‘nurse’ mode again. He helped Dean sit up, trying to minimize the pain. Dean still winced and had to sit still for a moment before trying to stand.

“Your right shoulder was dislocated and I had to stitch you up. You have like 14 cuts, I lost count of how many stitches. That thing sliced you up pretty good.”

“Shit. It all happened so fast, I don’t really remember much. We had a lead on the Colt, that’s the gun, Sam. The one Dad’s trying to find. The one that will kill a demon. And these things, like shadows… they got the drop on us, summoned by a demon like a fucking attack dog... Is Dad hurt?”

“Yeah, not that bad though. He had to be stitched up too but he left again. He must be pretty close to finding the gun to leave you here like this. You were still out cold Dean. I was so worried…”

Dean put some weight on his left arm and Sam cradled his torso, tucking himself under Dean’s swollen right shoulder. He didn’t have any apparent breaks or other major trauma so, other than being bruised, stiff, and sore from the stitches, he was able to stand up with relatively little help.

“He told me to help you get better. Said we have to train, hard. That we have to get ready to fight, together.” Dean glanced down at Sam and they made eye contact.

“Guess that means I’m not leaving again anytime soon.” He smiled wide, face still pale but getting more color by the minute.

Sam helped Dean peel of the bandages and get into the shower. He left Dean a clean shirt, boxers and PJ pants on the toilet under a towel. Sam put on a t-shirt and some fresh boxers and went downstairs to get them both something to eat. He read the note Bobby left on the fridge.

“ _Went with your Dad to pick up the Impala. Will be back in a few days. Make sure you eat something. Can’t take care of Dean if you don’t take care of yourself. Plenty of leftovers in the fridge. Painkillers are on the counter if he wakes up_.”

Sam was thankful for some time alone with Dean even if it just meant tending to his wounds and heating up leftovers. There was a barely touched pot of Bobby’s famous gumbo taking up a whole shelf in the refrigerator so Sam put it on the stove. He put the burner on low to get it heated through slowly. He got out two bowls and two big spoons and set them on the counter before filling up two glasses with milk. They were going to need it, Bobby didn’t skimp on the cayenne.

Sam heard the water shut off and hurried upstairs to finish helping Dean. Once Dean had brushed his teeth, Sam helped reapply Dean’s bandages over a fresh coat of Neosporin. Sam could feel Dean’s eyes on him as he helped bandage and dress him.

“Thanks, Sammy.” He said as Sam helped him navigate the stairs so they could go down to eat. The gumbo had gotten mostly warm by that point but Sam cranked up the heat to high to get it finished off as he set the table.

“Does Bobby know?” Dean asked as Sam ladled out the stew into their bowls. Sam shook his head.

“No, I don’t think… I mean, the night you were attacked by the werewolf. I was… It was like I was there Dean. Bobby calmed me down, he called Dad, yelled at him. He didn’t ask…”

“And you don’t know what’s going on, why this is happening?” Sam looked at Dean, his eyebrow was cocked and his face was trusting but Sam shook his head again, no. Sam averted his eyes to open the prescription bottle and dispense to Vicodin into Dean’s hand. The lie was far too easy. He couldn’t help looking down at the amulet hanging faithfully around Dean’s neck while his brother took chased the meds with a gulp of his milk.

They sat across from one another and ate slowly. They were sniffling from the heat after just a few bites and Sam got up to get them extra napkins to wipe their noses. They sat in comfortable silence, it was almost like Dean had never left. Once their bellies were full, Dean leaned back in his chair and let out a long, contented sigh.

“I’m still really sore, Sammy. Do you mind if I go back up and get into bed again?”

“No, of course not. Wait, use my bed, we need to wash your sheets.” Sam helped Dean upstairs, the wounds on his leg had stiffened after the shower and he had to sort of hobble instead of walk. He helped his brother out of his sweatpants and under the covers of his bed. Sam pulled the sheets and blankets from Dean’s bed, wadding it all up into a ball and holding it close to his chest.

“Dean…” Just seeing Dean up and moving again made him happier than he could articulate but part of him felt awkward and distant, like things were back to how they were just before Dean went away. “Did you mean what you said… on my birthday?”

“Of course I did, Sammy. What part?” Dean’s voice was tired and his eyes were hooded.

“…When you said I was… your other half.” Sam was unnecessarily self conscious and nervous, maybe it was just a dream after all.

“Yeah Sammy, ‘m so happy to be back. I missed you so much. C’mere.” Dean slid over so there was space to his left, pulling the sheet back to so Sam could slide into the crook between the wall and Dean’s uninjured shoulder. Sam deposited the dirty sheets in a pile by the door and slid into the narrow space next to his brother. It took a few tries to get comfortable in the small bed with Dean’s wounds but they managed to tangle themselves together carefully enough to relax into the embrace. Sam’s stomach was full and warm and Dean felt so utterly perfect against him, slotted together like puzzle pieces. He could have died happy right then and there.

“You still awake, Dean?” Sam asked quietly, lips grazing Dean’s collar bone.

“Uh huh.” Dean sounded close to sleep.

“Can I have that kiss now?” Sam tilted his head up hopefully.

“Mmmm…” Dean smiled and caressed Sam’s cheek as he angled his head down, lips meeting Sam’s softly. They were still chapped and tasted faintly of the Cajun spice from Bobby’s gumbo as Sam parted his own lips, moistening and deepening the kiss. They continued gently, only the faintest hint of tongue, caressing one another’s faces and shoulders. Dean pulled in a deep breath, letting Sam know he should let his brother sleep. Again, Sam was unable to pull himself away.

“Can I stay here and sleep with you, Dean?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Dean’s eyes were already closed. Sam nuzzled back down into Dean’s chest and fell asleep to the rhythm of Dean’s contented, quiet snores.

It was completely dark when Sam woke up. He was still curled around Dean, one long leg hitched up over Dean’s abdomen, his arm draped over Dean’s chest. He wasn’t quite sure how this could possibly be comfortable enough for Dean to sleep, especially in his injured state. As Sam became more aware of his body he realized his cock was hard and it was pressing directly into Dean’s hip. Sam knew he should get up, go to the bathroom, and either get off or calm down and take a leak. Dean needed time to heal and they still hadn’t really talked about their relationship. It was all so raw and Sam hadn’t exactly been honest. Sam was young but understood all too well that their bond was not even in the vicinity of normal and that they needed to think about what it meant for their future.

He began to pull away from Dean, even though he wanted nothing more than to stay, breathing in his brother’s scent, feeling the pressure of his firm muscle against his erection. As Sam pushed up onto his forearm and pulled his chest up off of Dean’s, Dean closed his arms around Sam and let out a needy sigh.

“Where ya goin’ Sammy?” His words were sleep slurred but his grip was firm as he pulled Sam down into a kiss. Their saliva was sour from sleep but Sam could care less, Dean’s kiss was all certainty and tongue. His hard on pulsed and his hips bucked against Dean’s flank without Sam intending them to. Dean groaned happily into Sam’s mouth and moved his hands down to Sam’s narrow hips. He pulled Sam the rest of the way on top of him, deepening the kiss even further.

Sam straddled Dean’s abdomen, one of his knees coming dangerously close to the bandages on Dean’s chest. He moved back a bit to avoid touching the wound and found his crotch sliding down over the top of Dean’s erection, the underside of their cocks pressed together through the thin fabric of their boxers. The sensation was so good, so intense that Sam’s gasp separated their lips. Both were breathing heavily, gasping hot and damp against one another as Sam thrust against Dean’s hard on once more, with intent.

“Fuck.” Dean groaned through his teeth, arching his back to meet Sam’s thrusts.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Sam whispered. He was worried this was all too much, too soon.

“Don’t stop. Please, Sam.” The need in Dean’s voice was obvious and Sam wasn’t about to push him away now. He’d wanted this since before he even knew how to make himself come. Sam leaned back, resting against Dean’s thighs as he sat up to pull off his shirt. He hiked up Dean’s shirt to expose the tight, smooth muscle of his uninjured abdomen, running his hands up and down the incredibly soft skin.

“Dean, can we? Please? I want you inside me.” Sam was needy, breathless as he leaned down again and kissed Dean’s neck, thumbing at his nipples through his shirt.

“God yes, but – are you sure? I’m…” Sam was giving Dean his best puppy dog look, it was impossible to resist, “OK, but you’re going to have to do most of the work.”

“Yeah, yes, please. Just tell me what to do.” Sam sat up again, looking down at Dean, waiting for direction.

“Have you ever touched yourself? Here I mean?” Dean’s hands were cupping his ass and Dean dragged his index finger up the boxer-clad cleft between Sam’s cheeks.

“Not really… well, maybe a little… since Sheila.” Sam blushed a bit but the embarrassment faded as his confession solicited a moan and a gentle thrust of hips from Dean.

“You’re gonna have to get yourself ready for me, okay? Got any lube?” Sam shook his head, slightly flustered from the technical nature of this conversation. He always imagined sex to be fluid, organic, he never really thought about the mechanics. Dean could feel the hesitation.

“Hey, we can wait until I’m better so we can do it right. I’ll prep you myself. Like I promised before…” Dean smiled and licked his lips subconsciously before pulling Sam down into another sloppy kiss. Dean grunted a little at the over exertion of his still-tender shoulder.

“No, Dean. I want – I need you. Now.”

“Okay, we’ll figure it out. Is my bag in here? There’s some lube in the inside pocket of my green duffle.” Sam gently pulled himself up off of Dean and divested himself of his boxers. He could feel Dean’s eyes on him again as he moved. He was aware of Dean’s movements as he sat up gingerly and pulled off his own t-shirt. Sam rummaged in Dean’s bag that had been carelessly shoved under the other bed and found the tube of KY quickly. He helped Dean remove his boxer briefs before crawling back on top of him.

“Dean… Are you sure?” Sam was still filled with doubt. He couldn’t shake the knowledge that the last time they had touched each other like this, Dean had pushed Sam away. Dean pulled him close, looking into his eyes in the low light.

“I’m sorry about before Sam… I felt awful, like I was taking advantage… you were just so young. Still are…” The words caused that same old ache to flare up in Sam’s chest, the ‘dirty-bad-wrong Dean doesn’t want me’ feelings that had poisoned their relationship since Sam had hit puberty.

“Dean, no. Please. I’ve loved you – wanted you – forever. Remember when you gave me ‘the talk’ because Bobby was too embarrassed? All I could think about was how none of it mattered and I was gonna wait for you. You’re the only one I’ve ever thought about. You’re all I want.” Dean pulled Sam against him and kissed him again, choking back a sob.

“I love you too…” Dean whispered into Sam’s lips. He pulled the lube from Sam’s hand and put a little on the fingers of his right hand. Sliding them up between Sam’s cheeks, Dean circled the tight pucker of Sam’s hole, coating the area with a generous smear of lube. He gently pressed the tip of his index finger against the opening. Sam felt his body yield without much effort, allowing Dean to push some of the jelly up inside. He continued to gently probe while pulling Sam’s right hand to his mouth, sucking Sam’s fingers between his plump lips.

Sam groaned at the sensation and the visual of Dean’s gorgeous mouth sucking his digits deep. Dean’s tongue was like velvet swirling against Sam’s fingertips and he wet them generously in the heat of his mouth. Sam looked down at his brother and saw that he was smiling around the intrusion of his fingers, knowing how good it must have felt and how much better it was going to be. Just as Sam was really getting into the fantasy, Dean pulled Sam’s hand away. His fingers were dripping with Dean’s saliva.

“Work yourself open for me, Sammy. Finger yourself.” Dean guided Sam’s hand toward his ass. Sam leaned down, putting his weight on his left arm as he kissed Dean’s throat. Dean held Sam’s cheeks apart and Sam slid his middle finger inside without hesitation. The lube made it slide in easy, and his finger went in deep. He worked it there, thrusting for a few moments before sliding his index finger in alongside it. Sam gasped at the stretch, one finger didn’t feel like much but the second opened him up more and there was a slight burn. He thought of the way it felt when Shelia had tongued and fingered Dean when they had that first shared experience. He whimpered into Dean’s neck at the pleasant memory. Dean caressed Sam’s back and thighs and he touched the cleft of Sam’s ass again, fingers trailing around Sam’s stretched rim.

“Can you get one more in there for me?” Dean’s voice was a breathy growl that Sam could feel in his chest. Sam’s cock was leaking in its cramped space against Dean’s abs and Dean’s lusty voice made it twitch with a mind of its own. He could feel Dean’s erection against his own belly and it felt so hot and wide, he couldn’t imagine it fitting inside him, no matter how much he stretched himself.

Sam bit his lip and nodded anyway, resting his head on Dean’s good shoulder as he tried to work a third finger in alongside the other two. Sam whimpered as he struggled to open enough to allow the additional digit.

“So tight… Try to relax and then push, like you’re trying to push your fingers out.” Dean whispered sweetly, stroking Sam’s back. Sam concentrated and with only a slight sting the third finger slid inside causing Sam to groan loudly, instantly making him feel self conscious.

“Yeah, let me hear you. Want to hear how it feels when I’m inside you.” Dean’s voice was ragged with lust and it made Sam want to hear him too. Sam’s inhibitions dropped some as the warmth of pleasure spread from his hole up into his abdomen. He sat up a bit more and thrust back against his fingers, his cock bobbing up and slapping wetly against his stomach before bobbing back down and sliding against Dean’s. Dean brought his right hand up and circled it around both of their lengths, keeping his strokes gentle and slow because of the pain in his shoulder. Sam gasped at the added sensation, rocking forward into Dean’s fist and then back onto his fingers.

As the angle changed, the tip of his middle finger grazed that spot of white heat inside him and Sam yelped, ass and balls clenching as he held back the impending flood of orgasm and stilled his hips.

“S’matter? If it feels good keep goin’.” Dean reassured him. Sam stifled a grunt.

”No, not yet. Want you inside me...” It was Dean’s turn to groan and hold back his orgasm. Sam’s body writhing on top of him, erections slip-sliding together on an abundance of pre come – it was almost too much.

“I’m ready, Dean. Please…” Sam whined, slipping his fingers out of his hole. The sensation was strange, he felt uncomfortably open and empty. Sam snatched the lube from where it rested on the bed next to Dean’s thigh and popped the cap, squirting a sizeable amount onto his palm. Dean released his grip on their cocks as Sam scooted up into position and slathered Dean’s erection with the lubricant. Dean groaned at the sensation, biting his lip and shutting his eyes as Sam watched his gorgeous face.

Dean was clearly beyond giving instructions so Sam went on instinct. He thought again about Sheila and how she sat so confidently straddling his brother’s length. He angled Dean’s cock head against his freshly prepped hole and leaned back. The flared crown of Dean’s cock was bulbous and wide. It felt incredible, yet enormous, against Sam’s opening. He was desperate to be filled and tried to bear down against it like Dean had told him before. Pushing against it seemed counterproductive at first, especially when nothing happened. Sam groaned softly with frustration and arched his back as he pressed himself down against Dean’s tip. Then, like magic, the head slid in past the tight ring of muscle, causing Sam to cry out. He heard Dean’s low groan follow his own cry and felt Dean’s hands ghost over his thighs soothingly.

“Fuck yes, that’s it Sam. Oh my God, you feel so good. Keep going.” Dean’s voice was pleading and needy. It turned Sam knowing he was making his brother into such a mess. His cock twitched again and he felt his asshole clamp down around Dean’s cock as the spasm hit. He pushed against the penetration and sat back a bit more, letting gravity slide him down onto his brother’s thick cock.

It was painful, the burn of the stretch radiated out from inside him until Sam swore he could feel it inside his chest. The sting of the physical sensation was bleeding into his wounded soul, warming and heating it through until Sam was in tears. He tilted his head back and the warm, saline drops flowed back toward his ears, into his hairline and down the sides of his neck as Dean slid inside to the hilt. Sam groaned resting back on Dean’s pelvis, hips slowly grinding against Dean as the silent sobs quaked in his chest. Dean smoothed his hands up Sam’s thighs, calloused fingers ghosting over his abdomen.

Sam’s erection had flagged from the ache and the emotion but Dean’s touch instantly had his blood pumping again. Sam realized he had been holding his breath and he gasped, taking in a lung full of air as Dean’s hands circled his cock and cupped his balls, stroking him gently back to full arousal.

“I love you Sammy. Love you so much. So perfect. So gorgeous. Mine…” Dean whispered a stream of loving endearments to his brother as he worshiped Sam’s body. The burn inside Sam was soothed slowly as he continued little thrusts of his hips and eventually he was riding Dean like it was second nature.

“Jesus Christ, Sam. So good… So good for me.” Dean was struggling to keep up his attention to Sam’s cock and was writhing beneath him. Sam’s movements were too slow to be anything but torture for Dean. Dean moaned loudly, desperately, the rough sound of his cries filled Sam with pride. He looked down at Dean and basked for a moment in the sharpness of his brother’s angular jaw, taught muscular abdomen, and the delicate, plush curve of his wet, pink lips. Sam gripped his own cock firmly then and began to ride Dean in earnest, bringing himself off in only a few short strokes. His come splashed across Dean’s stomach, his balls pulsing against Dean’s pubic bone and thigh muscles clenching on either side of Dean’s abdomen.

Dean took over then, bucking up fiercely into Sam’s body, fingers digging savagely into Sam’s hips, sure to leave bruises. Sam bit his lip and watched as Dean’s face contorted and he shouted out in pleasure and pain, his body tightening up from head to toe and straining his still healing wounds. Sam let his body relax as he basked in the sensation of Dean’s come filling him, warm and wet.

Between Dean’s sharp cries and breathy moans Sam could swear he heard movement in the room around them, not unlike the skittering of children’s bare feet against hardwood floors, the only evidence of sprites that would leave no trace other than faint giggling. Both boys would swear they had imagined it in the morning, even though Sam knew better.

Sam slumped down against Dean, face pressed into his neck, and he told him how much he loved him and how sorry he was but his brother was too fucked out and exhausted to respond. He curled around Dean and cried silent tears of guilt until Dean’s breathing evened out and he started to doze. Sam knew Dean was bound to be sore again, especially when he woke up, so he pulled on his boxers and slipped downstairs for more of the painkillers Bobby left on the counter. He brought Dean a glass of water with a straw and another vicodin. Dean was barely awake when Sam returned but he got him to take the meds.

“I’m gonna sleep in the other bed so you can get some rest.” Dean nodded slightly but his eyes were already closed. Sam pulled the quilt out of the pile of soiled linens on the floor and curled up on the other bed, listening to Dean breathing beside him. Guilt washed over him again as their breath synched up in the dark. If Sam could help it, Dean would never find out what he’d done.


	8. So He Won’t Break

Dean healed quickly under Sam’s care in the time that followed and the boy’s bond deepened immeasurably under the stress of the situation and the immense power of the curse. Sam quickly found that keeping his actions secret was far easier than he anticipated. The knowledge that Dean would never forgive him if he found about the voodoo curse ensured Sam feigned ignorance. There was too much to distract him in the sweaty, lurid days that followed Dean’s return for him to dwell on the guilt. It was a beautiful, blissful time for Sam and Dean, their relationship deepening and strengthening in synch with nature thrumming around them. The dreams stopped now that they were together again and, aside from the apparitions in Sam’s peripheral vision that whispered and giggled like children, there was no evidence of ill effects from Sam’s spell.

Shortly after Dean was hurt, Bobby’s close friend and fellow hunter Rufus Turner parked his Winnebago next to the salvage yard and announced he was staying to help Bobby run the business until “things returned to normal.” Rufus was a welcome distraction for Bobby and his help with the tourists and chores was invaluable as Sam nursed Dean back to health and began following John’s orders to train.

Training, exercise, and target practice were all on the menu, but first, Sam insisted on helping Dean prepare for his GED exam. Dean needed to ease into the physical regimen anyway, his muscles were stiff from underuse and his scars were still tender and pink after the stitches were removed. Dean didn’t push back much when Sam brought a GED study guide from the Pearl River Public Library and even agreed to set a date to take the test in a few short weeks.

Sam relished the role reversal during their study sessions and marveled at his brother’s intelligence. Dean’s stubborn self doubt got in the way at times when they practiced the sample questions together but, as they worked through the material Sam was more and more impressed. Dean’s reading comprehension, raw math, and memorization skills rivaled the smartest kids in Sam’s class and Dean was a million times better at word problems than he was – enough to spark a fleeting twinge of jealousy in Sam. By the time they got to the end of the book, Sam realized Dean didn’t need his help studying but the time they spent running through questions in their boxers on the couch or sprawled out on the grass in the back yard, sneaking kisses and sips of Bobby’s moonshine, made it worth pretending . Dean took the test down at the rec center in Slidell the first week of July and passed with a 96%.

They celebrated Dean’s GED on the 4th of July with Rufus and Bobby and a trunk load of fireworks from the stand in neighboring Covington that only sold illegal stuff. They gorged happily on Rufus’ amazing barbeque ribs, Bobby’s Cajun potato salad, and thick, juicy slices of watermelon enjoying the damp night air and forgetting the burden that faced them.

The boys fell into a routine that kept them away from the salvage yard from dawn until dusk most days. On the days they slept in the house, they woke early and ran as far as they could into the swamp without stopping. Most days they shoved a few blankets in their packs and slept under the stars, often staying out for days out at a time, hunting, fishing or foraging for their food. They practiced with the guns John gave them in addition to a crossbow, machetes, and the sawed off Dean made in sixth grade. They role-played pretend hunts, held day-long games of capture the flag, and fucked sweaty and dirty in the wilderness without shame or fear. They gazed up at the stars laughing and scratching their mosquito bites by the campfire and their bodies grew lean with sinewy muscle thickening under their tan skin.

Rufus and Bobby never asked many questions. They fed the boys well when they did show up at home and updated them on news from John, when they had it to give. Bobby scolded them about taking care of their weapons and supervised as they disassembled and meticulously cleaned them, knowing the tasks would soon turn into second nature.

Sam could tell Bobby regarded them differently but, looking in the mirror, Sam wasn’t sure he recognized the person looking back at him anymore either. He had sprouted up several inches since the beginning of the year and now, without the puppy fat in his cheeks, his height and angular features would have him passing for 18 in a pinch. Appearances aside, the energy that crackled between him and Dean was almost palpable at times, impossible for hunters as experienced at Rufus and Bobby to overlook. Sam waited for an awkward moment or a stray glance to set off a litany of interrogation from one of the older men but it never happened. July slipped away quickly and there was little word from John. Sam hoped it would stay that way so he could continue living as a blissed out child of the wilderness with Dean.

On one of their nights at home, Bobby announced that Rufus’ birthday was the last week of July and they planned to have a crawfish boil and shoot off the fireworks that were leftover from the 4th to celebrate. The boys stayed close to home for a few days, sleeping in beds that were no longer as comfortable as being tangled together in the swamp grass under the moonlight.

Rufus’ birthday was on a Monday, already light on tourists anyway, so Bobby blocked off Monday and Tuesday for tours so they could all have a few day’s rest. Bobby intended to repay Rufus’ kindness to them over the past few weeks with a Cajun feast and a large bottle of Johnny Walker Blue, Rufus’ favorite whiskey.  
Bobby came into Sam and Dean’s room early on the morning of Rufus’ birthday, shaking Dean awake. The ruckus woke Sam who was already a light sleeper.

“Sorry to wake ya so early, boy but we just got a call. Rufus’ and I gotta go.”

“Is it Dad?” Dean asked, concerned but groggy.

“No, a vamp attack in Mississippi. Big. Looks like a hunter we know, Elkins, big time vamp killer, was found dead. We gotta go see what’s up. I called your Dad. Any nest of vamps bad enough to get the drop on Elkins is going to be nasty. Need all the help we can get.”

“Should we come too?” Dean looked over at Sam, realizing he was also awake.

“Uh, naw boys, you… I know you’ve been trainin’, you’re both gettin’ so strong… but John needs you healthy and ready if he finds… him. You stay here, have the boil, shoot off dem fireworks, enjoy yourselves. You deserve a few days R and R too.” Bobby flashed an awkward smile. Dean didn’t question him, just nodded that he understood and Bobby left without further pleasantries. They waited for a short time until they were sure Bobby was gone and then Sam climbed into bed with Dean.

With no chores and no training planned they slept in until well past noon. It was nice to just enjoy the cool darkness inside the closed up house until the humid summer air finally seeped its way in and woke them up. They lounged around the empty house in their boxers, watching crappy movies on Bobby’s old TV until evening. With things all ready for a big celebration that wouldn’t be enjoyed by the guest of honor, the boys decided to follow Bobby’s orders and spend the rest of the night outdoors.

The boys pulled on their jeans and boots and set to building a fire in the pit behind the house for the crawfish boil. Always a quick study of Bobby’s, Dean prepped all the food while Sam made the area around the fire and picnic table comfortable enough that they wouldn’t have to go back into the house that night. They shot off the remaining handful of roman candles low over the water while the food simmered away.

Sam watched his brother’s eyes twinkle in the pink and yellow glow of the fireworks, feeling content and complete. Once the fireworks were done, they dumped the steaming pot of crawfish, corn, potatoes and andioulle sausage on a triple thick layer of newspaper Sam had laid out on the old, wooden picnic table in the yard and sat quiet, eating crawfish and watching the fireflies.

Dean was a professional at dismantling and consuming mud bugs. He might not have any Cajun blood but he fit right in with the locals when it came to his appetite for the critters. He sighed happily as he sucked out the tail meat and contents of the head cavity from another crawfish while spicy juice ran down his wrist and chin. He could down five or six in the time it took Sam to carefully pick his way through one.

"What are you doin'?!" Dean exclaimed as he looked over at his brother. He grabbed Sam's skinny brown wrist before Sam was able to chuck an un-sucked crawfish head carelessly into the grass next to the picnic table where they were dumping the shells.

"No, no, no Sammy you gotta suck the heads. That's where all the good stuff is. I can't believe Bobby and I let you get away with wastin' 'em."

Dean scooted across the wooden bench until he was practically in Sam's lap. Sam basked in the heat radiating off of Dean's bare chest and relished the strength of his brother's calloused grip on his scrawny arm. Dean flashed a sinful smile and pulled Sam's captive hand toward his mouth.

"Here, lemme show you." Dean's lips were already glistening and pink from the spicy seasoning the crustaceans were cooked in. He wrapped his gorgeous mouth around the bright red shell, cheeks hollowing, as he pulled the mudbug's brains out with several deep sucks. Dean's eyes locked with Sam's as he released his wrist and lapped the salty crawfish juice from his own lips. Sam's heart leaped at the sight and he became acutely aware of his body's reaction as blood rushed south, leaving him almost light headed. A soft, slightly anguished sound involuntarily left Sam's throat.

"Sammy..." Dean's voice was low, almost a whisper. Sam looked at his brother, lips parted and breath ragged. Suddenly, Dean's salty, spicy, shellfish flavored lips were on his and their tongues intertwined.

Dean's mouth was so hot, wet and savory against his own, it was overwhelming. Sam's hands scrambled for purchase against the firm skin of his brother's bare chest. The moist night air was clinging to them both, leaving their flesh sticky as beads of sweat formed. Dean wrapped his arms around Sam and their kisses deepened, falling into a heated rhythm. There was something about doing this out in the open, right in Bobby’s backyard, that had them desperate and on edge in the best possible way.

Dean pulled Sam closer as he spread his knees and pushed himself up slightly on the bench. The position forced Sam to tilt his head up, giving Dean full ownership of their kisses. Sam felt as if he was falling in space when Dean pulled back, their mouths parting wetly. Both boys gasped for breath in the night air. Dean carded his hands through Sam's shaggy hair as he looked down into his brother's wide eyed gaze.

"Don't stop Dean, please..." Smiling, Dean kissed Sam again, slowly but deeply. His tongue was as plush as velvet and still spicy with cayenne against Sam's own. Dean's hands slid down Sam's back through the thin wife beater he had on, tracing down his spine until he thumbed the waistband of his jeans.

"What about dinner?" Dean smirked, stroking his fingers over Sam's cheek. Sam shook his head, dinner was the last thing on his mind now.

"Want you to fuck me." Sam still wasn't used to saying it out loud. His cheeks flushed and he fumbled as he attempted to undo his fly. Dean drew his hands to the front of Sam's jeans to help. He began kissing Sam's neck and thrust his hand down the front of Sam's jeans as he mouthed his collar bone.

“Let’s get more comfortable.” Dean purred. He pulled Sam down onto the ground between the table and the fire pit and pushed him back into the grass. Sam scrambled to peel off his thin tank top and kick off his combat boots.

Sam groaned and his breath hitched as Dean crawled on top of him, lips finding his nipple. Dean sucked the rigid bud of flesh gently as his thick fingers teased the head of Sam's erection. Sam felt precome welling up in his slit. Dean's fingers found it and spread it around the crown of his cock.

Sam was dizzy, consumed with jolts of pleasure as Dean licked, kissed and stroked his young, responsive body. He was moaning loudly into the night, his sobs drowning out the background hum of cicadas in the trees. His nerve endings were prickling with pleasure, sizzling with the fiery oils from Dean's lips and fingers. Dean's mouth and tongue were scalding against his stomach and Sam's head was reeling. Dean pulled Sam's jeans down his slender hips and licked the salty skin below his navel, downy hairs thicker and more pronounced under his tongue as he ventured further south.

After pulling down Sam's briefs, he hitched Sam's knee over his arm and slotted himself between his legs. Dean's blue jeans were rough against the tender skin of Sam's inner thighs. He felt his brother's erection, rock hard, beneath the material as Dean ground his hips into the juncture of Sam's splayed legs. Dean was kissing him again, more frantically now - sloppy, wet and urgent. Dean's fingers left Sam's precome slicked cock and he broke the kiss.

"Get 'em wet for me." Dean pressed the thick fingers of his right hand between Sam's lips. He tasted the slightly bitter tang of his own slick mingled with the sweet shellfish and smoky cayenne on Dean's fingers.

Dean plunged his digits deep into Sam's mouth, stroking his tongue, as he continued rutting his denim-covered length against Sam's taint. Sitting back on his knees for balance, Dean used his left hand to open his fly and relieve some of the pressure while continuing to fuck Sam's mouth with his fingers.

Once his cock was free, Dean pushed Sam's thigh back, sliding his hand down the smooth flesh until his palm rested on Sam's ass cheek. He stroked his thumb under Sam's balls, downward along his sweat dampened crack, catching momentarily on the furl of his hole. He pulled his fingers out of Sam's mouth and lowered his lips to Sam's thigh, kissing and biting. His spit slicked fingers circled Sam's opening, pressing in gently and twisting. Dean's tongue joined his fingers then, alternating between teasing and soothing the pink ring of muscle as it yielded to the pressure of his fingertips.

"Fuck, Dean!" Sam gasped as he writhed under his brother, sweaty and desperate. His cock bobbed against his abdomen, weeping streams of fluid onto the already sweat soaked skin. Dean gave Sam a moment to adjust once his fingers were inside. He curved them upwards as he slowly pulled out, pressing his thumb into Sam's taint at the same time. Sam fisted the grass, groaning loudly from the intense prostate stimulation.

"Wanna taste you, Sammy." Dean leaned over Sam and licked a line up the center of his straining erection. He licked the head of Sam's cock gently in rhythm with his undulating fingers, twisting them slowly with every thrust. He kept his tongue soft and wet as he explored his brother's dick, hot breath ghosting over Sam's stomach.

"So hot inside, so fucking tight. Come for me, Sammy. Take the edge off before I fuck you." Giving the entire length one last lick, Dean took Sam's cock all the way into his mouth as he pushed his fingers in to the hilt. Sam was almost too sensitive to handle being enrobed in the heat of his brother's mouth. His erection throbbed, straddling the line between pain and pleasure. He gripped the sides of Dean's head, squeezing the sweaty base of his neck and running his fingers through Dean's hair. Dean looked up at Sam, huge eyes shining in the flicker of the fire.

"Dean, I'm..!" Sam tried to hold back but he lost it as he looked down, seeing his brother's plush, pink lips stretched over his shaft. His hips bucked up, unleashing his orgasm against Dean's tonsils. Dean pulled back, releasing Sam from his mouth and letting the last spurts of come splash across Sam's abdomen. Dean ran his fingers through the white streaks, painting swirls into his brother's skin as he licked his lips and swallowed the remnants of Sam's load.

"Fuck, Sammy." Dean moaned, breathing heavily. Sam stared up at the stars, mind swirling with lust, his body still on fire in the best possible way. Sam's breath slowed some as Dean watched him, gently stroking his own cock.

"I want it Dean, please. Need you in me." Sam spread his thighs, pulling his knees up to put his well prepped hole on display. Dean reached between Sam's thighs to gather the remnants of his orgasm from the cooling pool on his stomach. He transferred the fluid to his own erection, fingering the rim of Sam's hole again with his other hand.

"Get hard again for me, Sammy. Want you to come on my cock." Dean knew Sam's teenage stamina all too well. Sam obediently tugged at his dick, finding it still tender. Despite the sensitivity it twitched with interest anyway, swelling as Dean rubbed the blunt head of his own cock, slick with come, along Sam's crack.

"Fuck yeah, get it up. I wanna fuck another load outta you. Feel you come on my dick." Dean pushed his fingers inside Sam, spreading him open, before positioning himself to enter. The combination of Sam's deft fingers on his cock and Dean's dirty mouth whispering in his ear had Sam fully erect again before Dean pressed inside.

Despite the prep, Dean's cock was thick and the burn was significant. Sam tried to relax and bear down to ease entry like Dean taught him but the pain made him suck breath in quickly, panting and biting his lips, alerting Dean to his discomfort.

"Breathe Sam. I know it's big baby but relax and let me in. Gonna make it so good for you." Dean smoothed his hands down Sam's torso, stroking slowly along his hips and thighs, cooing softly in hopes of soothing the discomfort. Sam moaned, cock filling further at Dean's words, as he opened up for his big brother. Dean slowed his advance but kept firm, even pressure against Sam.

After a few more moments of breathing and adjusting, Sam's body opened up and Dean slid completely into the hot, snug channel. Once fully seated inside Sam, Dean leaned over and embraced him, kissing him sweetly and passionately. Not thrusting, just relishing the connection. Dean seemed overcome with the joy and intimacy of the moment, cradling Sam's trembling body, stroking his face and neck.

"Love you so much, Sammy. Fuck, I don't deserve you." Dean gasped the sincere words into Sam's mouth between kisses. Sam's erection pulsed between their stomachs. He felt split open and completely full, like he was going to come so hard he might black out. He clung to Dean, vibrating with pleasure, trying to hold onto the moment of completeness as long as he could. He could hear the desperate sounds leaving his throat, but somehow they don't sound like his voice.

"Need it, Dean..." Sam bucked his hips up erratically against Dean, "fuck me."

Dean had remained relatively still inside Sam as he adjusted but quickly complied with Sam's need for more. His hips began a slow, rhythmic rocking. His movements were fluid and his thrusts shallow to start. With Sam's own come lubing the penetration, there was very little drag despite Sam's intense tightness. The slide of Dean's inside him felt like heaven, his nerve endings were hot and pulsing, giving over from pain into pleasure. Sam's spine curved and his chest pressed into Dean, sweaty and sticky in the humid night air. He gripped Dean's shoulders mercilessly, nails digging into his brother's flesh.

Dean's thrusts intensified, he wrapped his arms around Sam's torso and sat back, pulling Sam into his lap. Dean leaned back all the way into the grass, allowing Sam to ride him. Sam eagerly wrapped his arms around Dean's neck, pushing up on his knees for leverage. The angle seated Dean's length deep inside Sam and he groaned loudly as his stretched rim slid the last half inch onto the thick base of Dean's cock.

This time Dean was oblivious to Sam's momentary discomfort. He was struggling to hold it together himself, chewing his bottom lip and eyes clenched shut as Sam began a brutal rhythm bouncing in his lap.

“Always so fucking tight, so good…” Dean’s voice trailed off into harsh breaths as Sam smiled down, marveling at his brother’s face as he lost himself. Sam’s thighs were burning from the exertion but he was close again and Dean was only seconds from flooding Sam with his come. Sam kept up the intensity, shifting his weight onto his left hand so he could use his right to stroke himself.

“Not yet Dean, still want me to come on your cock, don’t you?” Sam grinned at Dean’s choked back sob of a response. His hips stuttered beneath Sam and his thigh muscles clenched. He was doing his best to last but Sam wanted to watch Dean unravel. He slowed his movements to a grind, angling himself so the tip of Dean’s cock was sliding back and forth over his prostate. He gripped his cock at the base and held it tight as he rocked. Sam’s moans were desperate, almost as if they were being pulled from him by an unseen force. Every time the thick head of Dean’s prick slid over his sweet spot, Sam’s body twitched and he gasped loudly.

“Jesus Christ Sammy, I’m – “ Dean’s hips spasmed and Sam felt the torrent of Dean’s come fill him. Sam stilled his movements so he could feel the warmth spread inside him. He jacked his cock and after a few quick flicks of his wrist staring at Dean’s blissful face and bright pink, shining lips, Sam’s own load was splashing up over Dean’s abdomen.

After letting the last of the aftershocks ripple though him, Sam rested his head against Dean’s shoulder, feeling the rise and fall of his brother’s chest as his breathing slowed. They were stuck together with the moisture of their sweat and a smattering of Sam’s come. He turned and looked up at the sky, the moon was so bright. It was almost full and the moisture rising off the swamp created an almost rainbow-like ring of light around it. He marveled at its beauty and sighed contentedly, snuggling up next to Dean despite the persisting heat of the night air.

“Sam, I want it to be like this forever. I want you to be mine.” Dean’s voice was raw with emotion, a rare moment that took Sam a bit off guard.

“I don’t want to go hunting with Dad again,” Dean continued, “I just want you and me, on the road. Together. Saving people, hunting things. It would be great. I know we could do this job right. Then, once we’ve ganked every beast in the lower 48, we’ll find someplace like this where no one knows us and we can get soft and old together.”

Sam propped himself up on his elbow, looking down on Dean in the glow of the fire that had nearly burnt itself out. He had never heard his brother sound so real, raw, and downright wistful. Dean was looking up at the sky. His face was relaxed and introspective, so different from the intense young man that had gotten in the Impala just a few months ago and driven away, chasing the validation of his idol. It never dawned on Sam that somewhere deep down Dean might want something different for himself, too. The words were fiercely romantic and, honestly, scared Sam a little. Was this really how Dean felt or was it the curse?

“But what about Dad, Dean? You don’t want to find whatever killed Mom?” Sam was almost as shocked at his own response as he was by Dean’s desire to leave their lives behind.

“Course I do, Sammy but Dad, it’s all he thinks about. It’s like he’s… possessed. Not a day went by when I was with him that we didn’t talk about it. Even on other hunts there was always an ulterior motive. It was always about ‘yellow eyes.’”

“Yellow eyes? I thought you said demons had black eyes.”

“That’s what Dad calls him. The demon that killed Mom. He’s different, more powerful.”

“He’s so angry, so lost. He’s not a good father anymore, Sam. I don’t know that we can ever go back to being a family again. I don’t know that we ever were. Not really… Not after Mom…” Dean swallowed hard, Sam could see tears welling up in the corner of his eyes. This was all coming from a place deep inside Dean that was painful to uncover.

“Bobby’s been more of a father to us then Dad ever was and I feel like we’re a burden on him, too. Sam, you’re all I have. You said it before, you’re the only person I’ve ever really loved.” Dean looked at Sam, tears finally spilling from his eyes. He cupped Sam’s cheek in his hand delicately.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you, just you and me. I want to help people but not at the sake of our own happiness.”

The words caressed Sam’s very soul. It was so much at once, almost painful. He couldn’t speak and just looked down at Dean, letting tears fall silently from his own eyes. He leaned down and kissed Dean deeply, slowly. They kissed until their lips grew sore and the moisture in their mouths drying up reminded them that their bodies had needs besides one another.

They dressed sparingly and drank out of Dean’s canteen deeply before curling up in the grass near the fire pit. They spooned, Dean curling around Sam, sweaty, reeking of sex and completely content. As Sam fell back comfortably into sleep, he heard rustling of cattails and distant giggling. It was the Marassa again reminding him that this happiness was only an illusion.


	9. Sinister Kid

 

_**July 30, 1997** _

The sun was up and it was stiflingly hot and by the time the boys woke together in a tangle of limbs. Sam surveyed the mess from the night before and sighed as he started cleaning up the remnants of their half-eaten meal. As Dean pulled on his jeans and started helping Sam, the smell of freshly brewed coffee made its way to their nostrils. Sam looked at Dean and saw the concern in his eyes too. Bobby wasn’t supposed to be back yet and they hadn’t exactly been quiet or discreet the night before. They abandoned their cleanup and headed to the back door, not saying a word to one another.

Sam entered the kitchen first and was shocked to see John sitting quietly at the table with his journal and a stack of other notes strewn across the worn surface, a large mug of black coffee in his hand. He looked settled in, like he had returned sometime during the night. Sam’s mind flashed immediately to what he could have heard, or even seen, depending on when he arrived.

“Dad?” Dean broke the silence as he entered. John looked up and smiled wearily at them both. He looked more tired than usual but his expression was otherwise unreadable.

“Morning you two. Do you always get up this late when I’m not around? Thought you were supposed to be trainin’.” John’s words were harsh but he was still smiling a bit and his tone was lighter than either of them anticipated.

“Uh, no sir. I mean, we have been. But it was Rufus’ birthday and – ” Dean tried to stutter out a reply, face flushing as he scrambled for an excuse. They were both a mess. Only partially dressed, hair in disarray and they were sticky with sweat, crawfish juice, and a not insignificant amount of one another’s come. It was as close to getting caught red handed as either of them had experienced. Sam stood frozen in place in the doorway, clutching Bobby’s large stainless steel crawfish pot. John looked back and forth between them both for a moment and chuckled.

“Just giving you a hard time, boys. Why don’t you both go get cleaned up? We gotta talk. I have a lead – a sure thing this time – and I need you boys ready.” Sam and Dean collectively exhaled but the tension remained in the room, forcing both of them to scurry up the stairs quickly after depositing the tent and cookware on the counter.

They showered, one after another. Dean went first and Sam sat fidgeting on his bed until his brother was finished. Sam couldn’t pinpoint why his father’s return carried such a sense of foreboding with it. Sam hadn’t felt this raw emotionally since Dean was wounded because of their psychic bond. When Dean got out of the shower he sat down on his bed opposite Sam and pulled the case holding their guns out from under the night stand.

“You need to calm down, Sam. Dad’s going to notice you’re so keyed up. What’s wrong?” Dean began disassembling his weapon and cleaning it on the bedspread. Sam knew Dean felt it too. A storm was coming and, whatever it was, John had brought it home with him. Sam didn’t answer Dean, he just headed to the bathroom for his turn in the shower. He hoped the hot spray would calm him. He heard the front door shut and Bobby’s voice as he stripped down. He made the shower quick.

Dean had moved on to cleaning Sam’s gun after finishing with his own. They both now sat shiny and cold on the night stand and Dean’s hands were greasy and black from the process.

“Did the shower help?” He asked. Sam nodded feebly as Dean continued. “Bobby came back. I don’t think Rufus is with him. Something’s up, Sam. I don’t like it.” Sam crossed the room to Dean’s side and leaned over to kiss him. Their lips touching eased Sam’s nerves and he smiled into the kiss as Dean caressed his face and left a smear of gun oil across his cheek. Sam pulled away and rubbed the oil off idly with the back of his hand.

“Let’s go downstairs.” Sam suggested softly. Dean sighed and went to the bathroom to scrub up. Sam waited in the doorway of the bathroom to see if he could hear John or Bobby talking but both men were silent if they were still in the kitchen.

The boys went down to the kitchen, quietly eying both Bobby and John in an attempt to uncover some sense of what was happening. John was still seated at the table going over his notes. Bobby was standing at the counter looking out the window over the bayou. As soon as he heard the boys, he went into immediate mother hen mode, conveniently avoiding eye contact. He didn’t mention Rufus or even address the fact that John had returned.

“I bet you boys are hungry. Get over here and help me shell these leftover bugs and I’ll fix us all somethin’.”

Sam dumped the bucket of room temperature, already cooked crayfish into the sink and Dean pulled the trashcan up to the edge of the sink. They started shelling in silence standing shoulder to shoulder.

“I’m going to need your room tonight so why don’t you two go ahead and camp out again.” John said. “Don’t go too far, something might come up at any time so I need you ready to go. Take your weapons and sleep with your clothes and boots on, just to be safe.”

Dean sighed quietly. Sam looked over at him and saw he was clenching his jaw. Dean turned around to face John.

“What’s the lead? We haven’t heard from you in weeks and now you come back and you’re bein’ all secretive – ” Dean’s voice was full of frustration, not how he usually addressed John. Surprisingly, John just smiled and pulled his leather satchel up from where it rested on the chair next to him. It clunked heavily down on the table.

“I got it, Dean. I finally got the Colt.”

“What? How?”

“You remember Danny Elkins, right? Turns out he had it all this time. Those vamps took him out looking for it but…” John’s voice trailed off as he reached into his bag and pulled the weapon out. Bobby and Dean had both already moved over to the table for a better view. Sam stopped shelling the crawdads and stepped closer to see.

Sam’s first thought was how unimpressive the antique weapon looked resting in John’s hands. There was some engraving on the side but the metal had oxidized, almost completely obscuring the details. The grip was wooden and worn down so the grain was showing. A very crude pentagram was carved sloppily into the grip. The thing looked like it would give you a mean splinter but Sam wasn’t sure he bought that it could kill the thing John had been hunting all these years.

"They say this gun can kill anything." John looked at it with reverence. He looked up into Sam and Dean’s faces, smiling, and could clearly see the doubt in their eyes. He shook his head gently as he turned the weapon over, looking back down at it as he ran his finger over the Latin inscription along the barrel.

"Back in 1835, when Halley's Comet was overhead, the same night those men died at the Alamo, they say Samuel Colt made this gun. It’s a special gun. He made it for a hunter, a man like us, only on horseback. The story goes he made 13 bullets. This hunter used the gun a half dozen times before he disappeared, the gun along with him. Somehow, Daniel got his hands on it. And yeah, they say it can kill anything."

“Demons?” Sam asked.

“Even demons, Sammy.” John reassured his youngest.

“Okay, so you found the gun but you said there was a lead? That we had to be ready?” Dean was still frustrated. A significant amount of the loyalty he had for his father had been burnt away in the summer heat chasing imaginary demons with his brother.

“Yeah, well the demons were trying to get their hands on the Colt too. They aren’t exactly thrilled I finally got my hands on it. So, I guess it’s not really a lead as much as they are probably on their way here…” John slid the gun back into the bag and kept looking down at it as he spoke.

“Bobby has people watchin’, listenin’ – we’ll know if they show up anywhere within 50 miles of Pearl River. When that son of a bitch shows up we’re gonna go find him, Dean. And I’m gonna put a bullet in his head. For Mary. For us.”

Dean nodded and John looked up, his eyes were wet and bloodshot, he looked like hell.

“I’m gonna go get some rest. I’ll tell you more about the Colt later, over dinner, and we’ll plan more, okay? Don’t worry Dean. This is it. It’s finally gonna be over.” John pulled himself out of the chair and up the stairs. He moved like his body was filled with lead, like the sadness in his heart weighed more than ever now that the end appeared to be in sight.

Bobby sat down at the table and emptied the contents of his flask into John’s abandoned half-empty cup of coffee. The boys finished shelling the crawfish in silence, knowledge of what was to come to vast to be spoken about. The silence spoke for them.

Following John’s instructions to camp out but stay close, the boys headed to a clearing a short distance from the house, one of the areas they used for target practice. The spot was some distance from the edge of the bayou on good, solid ground. It was a large, almost circular clearing with tall grass and wildflowers and a scattering of large, fallen cypress logs that made it a great spot to line up cans, bottles and other targets for practice. The forest surrounding the clearing was thick, good for hunting pheasant and quail in the fall and free of crocs and other predators that could make sleeping outdoors in this part of the country risky at best. The boys, and even Bobby, used the area from time to time and they had camped there several times before. The fire pit was already dug and there was an area around it where the grass was much shorter, perfect for sleeping. It was also close enough to the house they would be able to hear if Bobby or John yelled or if a shot were fired.

The night was cooler than usual, making the mosquitoes and other biting swamp critters less active than normal. It hadn’t rained in over a week but a storm was definitely brewing out on the gulf. The air smelled like ozone and was damp with a cool breeze. They lit a small fire to ward off the chill and, after spreading out their sleeping bags, they sat in silence eating the crawfish tail salad on white bread that Bobby packed for them. Neither had a reason to be tired or gloomy but the mood since discovering John had returned left them both weary to say the least. John finally had the Colt. If things went according to whatever plan he had to lure in the demon, they would finally achieve what they had been fighting for these long, bloody years - - closure. The idea made Sam feel uneasy, not hopeful. He didn’t know what this meant for his future or Dean’s. Their future together. He didn’t really even want to think about it, his stomach did somersaults even skirting the edges of the idea.

As usual, they didn’t bother with the old Army tent in Dean’s pack, and it sat abandoned with their weapons and other supplies on the edge of their makeshift camp. Dean slid up behind Sam on the plaid surface of the spread out sleeping bag as he lay quietly watching the low fire. He pulled Sam close to his chest, spooning him and pushing Sam’s hair aside to rest his lips softly against the back of his neck.

“I’m not gonna leave with him again Sam, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Dean whispered softly against Sam’s skin. Sam swallowed thickly. He wasn’t worried about Dean leaving. He knew the magic between them would either pull them back together or kill them before it would allow their separation. It had become painfully evident to Sam that their bond was supernatural in nature and that he would have to find a way to sever it if either of them was ever going to be free. Selfishly Sam, knew he would never be brave enough to live without Dean. He wanted anything but freedom from his brother. Sam turned to face Dean before the guilt and self-loathing welled up and poured out. He preferred to focus on Dean’s soft features and twinkling eyes, a welcome distraction to the dark thoughts once again swirling in his head.

The full moon bathed the boys in an ethereal light as they nestled in the tall grass, kissing languidly, touching one another’s skin. Whatever was looming on the horizon like that storm out on the water was drowned out by soft lips and wet tongues. They stayed lost in one another’s touch until they fell asleep.

Sam woke with a start. He hadn’t even realized that he had dozed off. His back was to the fire pit now and Dean had rolled over onto his stomach, halfway in the grass with his limbs sprawled out. Sam’s back was cool. Their tiny fire had burned all the way down to a few embers. His skin was clammy and cold, he needed to light the fire again. As he sat up to find some more tinder he heard rustling in the brush surrounding the clearing that caused the hackles on the back of his neck to stand up. Their guns and hunting knives were in the pack at least 10 feet away.

Sam tried to calm his heartbeat, hoping it was just an animal, or even the Marassa, but Sam’s instincts knew better. The moon made the clearing light enough that Sam could clearly see the shadowy figure of a man as it stepped out of the trees on the edge of the clearing. Sam was locked in place, unable to react or speak, his mind was reeling. The figure closed the distance quickly, only stopping when he had reached the fallen log they used to set up tin can targets for target practice. Dean’s body was directly between Sam and the imposing shadow.

“Do you know who I am?” The man’s voice carried clearly across the distance between them. The paralyzing fear holding Sam in place finally loosened its grip and he scrambled to his feet. Dean moaned softly and turned his head toward Sam but he didn’t wake up. The dark figure stood as still as a statue, moonlight on his shoulders. He stepped forward as Sam’s mouth opened to speak again but what he saw stifled his reply. The man’s rugged face was still bathed in shadow but, with the moonlight spilling over his features, Sam could see his eyes were swirled with yellow, like a marble.

Sam gasped but responded quickly, “I think so. You’re the one… You killed my Mom.” His heart seized in his chest. It was him. Yellow eyes.

“Yes, Sam. An… unfortunate accident, your mother. Wrong place, wrong time.” The man’s gravelly voice almost sounded amused. “But this isn’t about her, is it Sam? It's about you. It's always been about you. You're special. My name’s Azazel and I’m here to take you home.”

Sam ceased his attempt to back away as his sneaker slid in the dirt at the edge of the shallow fire pit. His body wanted to bolt but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t, leave Dean.

“Home? This is my home. What the fuck are you talking about?” Sam couldn’t keep the fear out of his voice. It trembled helplessly in his throat making him sound very young and fragile.

“You, Sam. I’m here for you. I’ve been looking for you a long time, my boy. And I must say, now that I’m here and I can finally see you, I couldn’t be happier with how you turned out.” The man’s arms spread out in a welcoming gesture, as if he expected Sam to run up and embrace him.

“You're tough, you're smart, you're well trained. Sam. Sammy, you're my favorite.” The man’s shiny white teeth glinted in the night as a wide smile spread across his face. He took another step closer, now only a few feet away from Dean’s prone form.

“What are you? What the fuck do you want from me?” Sam was desperate. He had no idea what to do or say.

“It’s time boy, you’re ready. It’s time to face your destiny. Leave all this and come with me. You will have power you cannot even begin to imagine.” Sam’s silence spoke for him. The demon’s voice, previously almost saccharine and sweet, gave over into the frustration he was clearly feeling at Sam’s resistance.

“You know your brother doesn’t really love you. Not the way you love him, anyway. You’re different, Sam.” The man walked to the right a few steps, almost as if he were pacing.

“That link you formed with Dean, the one tethering your souls, that was all you. Those little sprites you summoned are feeding off of your energy. You didn’t need that two-bit con woman Laveau’s corpse or that juju to summon them Sam, you didn’t need to become their vessel, their bitch. You have enough power to command armies inside of you Sammy! Can’t you feel it? How do you think you talked to your brother across the miles? Your psychic ability, Sam – it was you all along.” The man’s teeth shone in the low light as Sam’s mind stumbled over the information he was being given.

“You don’t fit in this family because you’re MINE. This isn’t your real home. You must feel it. Now come, take your place beside me.” The man’s voice was booming in the darkness.

“Who the fuck are you to say I don’t really love him you son of a bitch.” Suddenly Dean was standing next to Sam, his ivory gripped Colt in his hands, trained on the yellow eyed demon.

Azazel cackled, tilting his head back as laughter belted out from deep within his chest. Dean didn’t hesitate and took the shot. In a blur, Azazel was ten feet away on the other side of the fallen log. The bullet had clearly missed even though there was no way that Dean, a skilled shot, wouldn’t have hit a target that close. The demon had moved with unnatural speed. His hand moved through the air and an unseen force blasted Dean backwards, knocking him to the ground with a limp thud.  
“Dean!” Sam shouted scrambled to his brother’s side.

“Tell him Sam. Tell Dean why he loves you so much. Tell him what you did.” Azazel’s voice boomed, smug and angry.

Dean was still on the ground dizzy and disoriented after the fall. He shook his head and tried to right himself. Sam crouched next to Dean and clutched his thigh, trying to ignore the demon as he continued to speak.

“I know you must have been wondering Dean, what would have so easily melted your resolve, stripped away all those brotherly, protecting instincts and flung you into a full on sexual relationship with your baby brother. Must have been wondering why you had all those crazy dreams after you left? Ask Sam to tell you. He knows all about it. Don’t ya, Sammy?”

Dean grimaced angrily at the man but when Sam looked into Dean’s eyes he saw the pain, the questions lingering. Sam’s lip quivered and he tried to choke out some semblance of denial, something to yell at the bastard uncovering all his secrets but he couldn’t. He clutched Dean’s shoulder and started sobbing, tears streaming down his face. It was easier than admitting what he had done.

“Don’t be weak, Sam! Own what you did. Don’t be ashamed because it was selfish. Humans are selfish and you’re still human, well mostly.” Azazel smirked, yellow eyes glinting. He took a step toward them.

“It’s okay, I’ll tell him Sam. It will be worth it to see him devastated before I take his sad little life.” The demon crossed his arms and looked down at Dean as Sam sobbed beside him with his face buried in his hands.

“That silly amulet you cherish so much, it’s a curse, Dean. A God damned hoodoo curse.” He laughed heartily, a wicked smile on his face as he enjoyed the doubt and confusion that filled Dean’s eyes. He began pacing again as he peeled back the layers of lies, baring them to the light for Dean who was already wounded by their intensity.

“That’s right, Sam used that coonass magic you all love so much ‘round here and set some spirits on you.” The demon’s mocking tone and fake Cajun accent deepened the cut of his words. “That so-called ‘love’ you feel, that pain, that need you had to defile your sweet little virgin brother. That’s them, those hoodoo spirits, that’s their greedy little fingers feeding off your depravity. They don’t have gender. They don’t have family. They are simple children driven by lust and gluttony and greed – they’re more like my kind than you’ll ever know.” Sam’s body was wracked with sobs as the demon revealed his transgressions. He couldn’t even look at Dean, too terrified to see the disgust and hate in his eyes.

“So, Dean,” Azazel continued gleefully, “it’s time for you to let Sam go. He’s MINE. See, your sweet Sammy is broken, he’s so fucked up that he put your very life in danger, almost got you killed with his little voodoo curse, didn’t he? He loved you in dark, secret, unclean ways that only my kind can love and, when you didn’t love him back, he cursed you so you would always be joined to him. It’s sick, right? That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? Powerful stuff, voodoo. Got you fooled into thinking it’s okay to fuck your little brother.” The man laughed again, circling the boys with a wide gait, enjoying the dramatics and the pain his words were inflicting on his trapped prey.

“I mean, what would your Daddy have to say, Dean? He’s a good old boy, a real man’s man. The kind of guy you’ve always wanted to be. I bet he’s going to beat you within an inch of your life when he finds out you’re a no-good faggot that’s been taking advantage of his little baby brother all summer.”

Sam looked at Dean with eyes sore and swollen from tears. Dean’s face was pale and his jaw was clenched. His body was tense but it was like the fight had drained from him, he made no attempt at moving and didn’t appear to be planning a counter attack, as far as Sam could tell. He just stared at Azazel with blind rage, body tense and trembling.  
“What do you say we ask him boys? I know you’re there, Winchester. You too, Singer. No use hiding out there anymore.”

Sam heard the brush rustling again, branches snapping. He looked up through his tear soaked lashes and saw the obvious shapes of John and Bobby emerging from the woods, weapons drawn and glinting in the moonlight. John had a shotgun and Bobby had his hunting rifle. There was no sign of the Colt.

The men were parallel with the demon, at an angle where the boys were not in their direct line of fire, so both begin unloading their weapons on the demon. Again, he moved his body with inhuman speed, cackling as he placed himself behind Sam and Dean, making it impossible for John and Bobby to shoot without endangering the boys.

“Using your kids as bait, Winchester? That’s fucking rich. I never thought you would stoop so low. And you Singer? Some surrogate father you are! You let John talk you into this – I mean look at the boys now. Look how you’ve let them fall. I knew you two pathetic meat sacks would eventually lead me back to Sam but I never thought it would be like this, serving him up on a fucking platter! Thanks again for polluting him so perfectly before you gave him to me, too. That’s just icing on the cake. I swear this entire family belongs in Hell. You’ll all fit in perfectly!”

Sam could hear Bobby chanting low under his breath and he could smell something burning that wasn’t their fire, maybe sage, but something else too, something more potent. John dropped the shotgun and reached into his belt for something smaller. It was the Colt. Sam knew there were only a limited number of bullets for the weapon so, instead of firing, John charged his target, trying to get closer and possibly subdue the demon before taking the vital shot.

Azazel side stepped the large man barreling his way but John grabbed at the collar of the demon’s jacket, iron grip dragging the hell spawn with him as his momentum pulled them both to the ground. John still had the Colt in his hand but he couldn’t get the angle right for another shot.

“Stop you piece of shit!” Sam yelled. He was in control of his body at last, using the pain and anger to pull himself to his feet. He marched toward Azazel and John where they tangled on the ground. Sam’s fists were balled at his sides and his tear streaked cheeks were flaming red with anger. Sam’s advance momentarily distracted the demon and John took the opening to flip them, pinning Azazel’s wrists to the ground. The demon simply laughed in John’s face spitting more venomous words.

“Look John, look what you’ve done to your children!” He angled his jaw toward Sam. “You’ve perverted them beyond belief. Now give me what I came for.” Azazel slipped out of John’s grasp easily, shoving John back with inhuman strength. John flew back several feet, his body slamming into one of the fallen logs. The rotted wood splintered beneath the force of his body and his head bounced brutally against its edge. The Colt was flung out of John’s hand and into the grass between his body and the campsite.

Dean got back on his feet again, crossing the distance to Sam. As the demon slipped from John’s grasp, Dean’s eyes locked with his brother’s and Sam crumbled under the weight of his gaze instead of focusing on the very real threat still in the clearing with them.

Sam’s body grew limp and teetered pathetically as he sobbed, “Dean, I love you and I’m so sorry. I never meant, I…” Dean grabbed the amulet in one hand and Sam’s lapel in the other and pulled Sam against him for a deep, slow kiss.

The world stood still for a moment as their lips slid together, tongues meshing, mouths fitting together so perfectly, like they were made for one another. Sam lost himself in that moment, a pocket of time so flawless and fragile he could never have imagined it existing. Despite everything Dean had been told that night, all the harsh reality of Sam’s sin being laid bare without any argument from Sam himself, Dean still pulled him in and kissed him with a passion he had never known. In the fleeting moment Sam thought it didn’t matter after all, Azazel could kill him – rip his heart out and show it to him in his final moments – and it wouldn’t matter because he had this. Dean loved him even though he had been reckless, selfish, stupid – he was still his brother and he still wanted him as his lover, his soul mate.

The moment seemed to stretch on infinitely and yet was over so quickly it left Sam stumbling and breathless. As Sam came back to himself, he became aware of a warm, glowing light shimmering though his tightly closed eyelids. Sam opened his eyes just as Dean’s lips slowly separated from his. Dean’s face was illuminated from below by a soft golden light that was intensifying. Sam pulled away and Dean’s grip loosened as he too became aware of the ethereal glow. Sam looked down at the amulet clutched in Dean’s fist. His brother’s hand was glowing reddish pink, thin shafts of light were peeking from between his fingers as if he was holding a 500 watt bulb in his fist instead of the small, golden charm. Sam was faintly aware of the unmistakable soft giggling of the Marassa as he looked into Dean’s eyes, shining emerald green with flecks of gold in the shimmering light. Suddenly light was all Sam could see and all of his other senses faded.


	10. Everlasting Light

Bobby watched from the edge of the clearing, cringing as his boys kissed passionately under the moonlight. Yellow Eyes’ words were no worse than the litany of abuse he’d been giving himself over countless booze soaked nights but seeing the boys like this sent a jolt of white hot pain straight through his heart. John had assured Bobby that the risk was worth it. He claimed the wounds caused by the burden the boys were being forced to bear would heal with time and their pain would end once the demon was purged from the earth. Bobby wasn’t so sure, especially as he watched the children he loved as his own bathed in golden light, their lips sealed in taboo union. Right now their very lives hung in the balance. In the meantime, John lay unconscious and the Colt was somewhere nearby hidden in deep grass of the meadow. Waves of guilt, sadness, and helplessness washed over Bobby but he could not look away.

He had admittedly turned a blind eye to the kind of love he saw forming between Sam and Dean over the past year but witnessing its physical manifestation only a few feet in front of him was almost too much to handle. Bobby had set them on this path. He was to blame as much as John in this accursed quest. What had he done?

Bobby remembered John showing up on his doorstep late at night the summer before just like it was yesterday. The boys slept through John’s long monologue. He spent hours laying out his elaborate scheme to lure the demon. Bobby resisted strongly at first on principle alone but John had done his research. John had killed the demon’s Azazel’s human vessel a number of times over the years and the fiend always came back, stronger than ever. He was the one who killed John’s beloved Mary and he kept a close eye on John and his boys even after the deed was done. While John didn’t understand fully what the demon wanted with his family, he knew they would never be at peace until the infernal, yellow eyed beast was truly dead.

John discovered the Colt legend somewhere during his years of research and had come to believe that once he got his hands on the weapon, he would need a way to subdue the demon so he could kill it once and for all. That’s where Sam came in. John suspected that Sam was the demon’s real target, and as much as his end goal was to protect the boy, he saw Sam’s latent powers as the perfect solution to the demon’s permanent undoing.

Sam certainly had a gift. Bobby felt that special sensitivity to the other side that lay dormant within Sam from the moment he’d laid eyes on him as a young boy. Sam’s psychic abilities shone through in minor ways throughout his life but it was his connection with Dean that seemed to intensify their power. As much as Dean had been Sam’s protector in those early years, Sam was viciously protective of his big brother and hung on Dean’s every word with reverence. Both Bobby and John had seen things happen that couldn’t be explained when Dean was in danger and Sam was nearby. John’s friend Missouri had been the one to help John understand the low level telekinetic power his son possessed was not something to be afraid of. Indeed, John leveraged the power, keeping the boys close while they were on the road in hopes of ensuring their safety when he couldn’t be there. It was a natural progression for John to exploit it once again to help lure, trap, and immobilize their target so John could end the Winchester family’s 14 year long nightmare.

It seemed simple enough on the surface. The demon wanted Sam. Use Sam and, by extension, Dean as bait. With the boys’ lives threatened, Sam’s power would manifest. With the right help, he could immobilize their yellow-eyed nemesis and John would be able swoop in with the Colt, the legendary weapon that killed demons instead of simply sending them back to hell. Sure, pretty straightforward, but he wanted an insurance policy to make sure Sam’s power was channeled and focused enough to stop the powerful demon. He needed Bobby’s help.

Bobby thought of the Marassa immediately. The twin spirits were no strangers to the swamps of Pearl River. He remembered his mama praying to them when she gave birth to his stillborn younger brother after his father beat her half to death in a drunken rage. Bobby could still hear their laughter ringing in his ears as she laid out offerings to them, praying for peace for their family, praying for revenge. Bobby heard them again as he personally put a bullet between the bastard’s eyes.

Bobby knew the Marassa were fierce defenders of family and the blood bond that existed between the boys would draw the Marassa’s interest. All that was needed was to lay the foundation for Sam with the right books and stories. The inquisitive boy’s love for voodoo lore and deep, desperate love for Dean would do the rest. A nudge or two from Bobby was all it took and Sam was summoning the Marassa himself like Mrs. Singer had done all those years before.

What Bobby hadn’t predicted was the physical manifestation of the boys’ dependency on one another after the curse began to work. He tried to warn John as soon as he saw how Sam reacted to Dean’s departure but John acted particularly obtuse whenever Bobby mentioned the subject. Bobby knew a broken heart when he saw one and Sam was wrecked in ways he hadn’t seen since his own wife was killed. Despite Bobby’s persistence, John dismissed his concerns as imaginary. Bobby came to understand that John was intentionally turning a blind eye as Sam and Dean’s romantic love blossomed over the summer. The fact John simply saw the boys’ relationship as a means to an end spoke volumes for John’s mental state. Bobby only continued pressing forward because he could see no other way out than to allow events to unfold as planned.

As John lured the demon and his minions closer, Bobby took down the powerful layers of spells that had successfully protected the boys location all these years, setting the final steps of their plan in motion. After that it had taken the Yellow Eyed Demon only a few days to arrive. Now, here they were, and the boys’ lives hung in the balance over John’s selfish need for revenge. Bobby’s heart lurched in his chest. All that he could hope for now was that his boys would come out on the other side of this nightmare without permanent damage.

Bobby tried to focus on chanting a protection spell under his breath, smudging the bundle of smoldering herbs he lit into the patch of earth with his boot. He strengthened his focus on the spell as his foot pressed more of their smoky essence into the night air. Bobby looked up as the glowing light began emanating from between Sam and Dean. He did his best to ignore the hungry slide of their lips and tongues against one another and tried to discern the light’s source.

Dean appeared to have noticed the light too and pulled away from his brother, revealing his fist clenching around a small object that appeared to be the source of the light spilling between his fingers. As the boys looked at one another, their eyes filled with light, not just from the glowing amulet in Dean’s hand but from within their bodies. Bobby shook his head, not believing his own eyes. Dean released the small, golden object and it floated suspended between them still on its cord, shining with the same golden light was pouring from their pupils.

“Stop this!” The demon shouted across the clearing. Bobby wasn’t sure who the words were directed at but neither Sam nor Dean acknowledged the man. John still lay unconscious, slumped against the log with blood running down his forehead.

Sam extended his palm out toward the demon, fingers spread wide, as his eyes remained trained on his brother’s. Yellow Eyes was clearly flustered, he extended his own hand with the same technique he had used earlier that succeeded in knocking Dean and John to their feet with ease. But now, there seemed to be something preventing the demon’s powers from reaching the boys.

The demon shouted in anger and charged the boys’ position, his body a blur as he moved with unnatural speed. Sam’s head turned, palm still outstretched, the fingers of his other hand laced with Dean’s. Suddenly Azazel’s progress halted. He was only a few feet away from Sam but it was if he were frozen in a block of ice from the shoulders down. He was in a pouncing position, hanging in the air more than a foot off the ground, locked solid except for his head which thrashed back and forth angrily as he screamed and roared. Bobby expected the black smoke of the demon’s true form to come pouring out of the man’s mouth but the only thing exiting the human vessel were screams and a litany of curses.

Sam’s body too began to levitate as the light around him and Dean intensified slowly, the amulet generating a tiny supernova of warm light bleeding out into the darkness around them. His body turned until he was facing the Demon. He released Dean’s hand and reached out as if to choke the demon across the short distance. Sam’s body rose several feet off the ground until he was eye level with Azazel. Bobby only had a partial view of Sam’s face but if he didn’t know better, he’d say the boy was smiling. The light flowed out of Sam in tendrils, twining around the demon's vessel. The demon’s smoky essence tried to escape the man’s gaping mouth but failed, the light chasing it back inside the unfortunate meat suit.

Suddenly the light swelled even further. The glow surrounding Sam and Dean became so blinding it almost completely obscured their forms. Bobby’s pupils contracted from the brightness and he was forced to look away as the entire clearing was bathed in its purifying essence. The giggling of children filled Bobby’s ears and his skin prickled with goose bumps as a wave of nostalgia swept over him.

Bobby heard the gunshot before he even realized anyone had moved. Still shielding his eyes from the bright light, Bobby tried to see who fired the gun. The light faded slowly revealing the forms of two small children, all made of light, standing before Sam. The demon’s body was no longer suspended in the air. Bobby could see it rumpled in the grass beyond the golden radiance of the small visitors. Sam’s body slowly lowered to the ground too, his limbs limp and his chin resting against his chest. Bobby realized then that Dean was no longer next to Sam. Movement drew Bobby’s eyes to Dean’s position as he sprinted back to Sam’s side with the Colt held firmly in his right hand. Dean joined his brother and grasped his hand again. The contact roused Sam from his wilted state and he lifted his head slowly to look at the beings standing in front of him. Sam and Dean’s posture mirrored that of the two beings of light in an eerie contrast as Bobby looked on in awe.

\--------------------------

Sam’s consciousness returned to him as he felt Dean’s fingers intertwine with his own. They were clammy and cold against Sam’s skin which seemed to be much warmer than normal. The bright, blinding light that engulfed his vision only moments before had faded, retreating into the forms of two children. Sam’s eyes tried to make out detail but they were just simple shapes, like silhouettes made of pure radiance. The Marassa at last had come out of the shadows and were standing right in front of Sam. He could hear their voices inside his head as the cicadas, crickets and frogs chirping in the swamp around him buzzed in his ears. He looked at Dean and understood that he was able to hear them too, and yet no sound escaped into the clearing. There were two voices, speaking in perfect unison, words filled with love.

“Brothers. Do not let the world tell you what you have is wrong. It is the purest love. You were meant to be one soul but fate split you in two. You must be together. We did not make it so. We simply put you together again. We showed you the way. You already fit together. We removed the obstacles.”

Sam looked at Dean who was already looking in his direction, eyes wet with tears as the Marassa spoke. Their words filled Sam with hope and love.

“Your destiny belongs to you now. The fiend is gone. You are not the boy king Sam, hell does not own you. You are not Daddy’s blunt instrument Dean, you deserve to be happy. You are one now. God in heaven blesses it.”

The light intensified again, only for a moment, as bright as a roman candle and just as quick. As the radiance faded, the beings vanished and Sam felt their hold on his heart release like tendrils of a vine unfurling. Sam fell to his knees in the grass with Dean at his side, his body and mind completely exhausted. Dean held him close and whispered “I love you” in Sam’s ear as his consciousness faded.


	11. Epilogue

 

_**July 30, 2002** _

The rumble of the Impala’s engine echoed off the outer wall of St. Louis Cemetery No 1 and the muffled, tinny sound of too-loud classic rock reverberated into the night air before Dean cut the engine. It was just past midnight and Dean had made the 5 hour drive from Tallahassee in record time after wrapping up a routine salt and burn just for Sam. The cemetery’s caretaker locked the front gates at sundown so Sam told his brother to meet him at the rear wall where it transitioned to wrought iron, the easiest spot to climb and Dean was right on time.

Sam beamed, his dimples cutting deep into his lightly stubbled cheeks at the sight of the spiky haired, broad shouldered silhouette walking toward him. It had only been a few weeks since he saw Dean last but Sam’s skin tingled in anticipation of having Dean close to him again. Sam’s stomach was also aflutter with the memory of what they were here to celebrate that clear summer night. In some ways, the events from the summer of ’97 felt like they just happened yesterday but it had been 5 whole years since that night in the swamp when they confronted Azazel. So much had changed and yet Dean was as solid, beautiful and full of swagger as he’d always been – the one constant in Sam’s life that he could always count on.

“Heya, Sammy.” Dean’s voice was deep and full of promise as their lips met in perfect unison. They’d had lots of practice at getting this part right and as their bodies pressed together in the humid night air Sam let the knowledge that they were separate parts of the same whole wash over him. Sam pulled Dean’s body flush against his and leaned back into the wall, kissing slowly, mapping Dean’s plush lips with his tongue.

After a few moments of sweet, deep kisses Sam laid his palm flat on Dean’s sternum and felt the cool, pointy profile of the amulet press into his palm. He pushed back gently and relished the tiny hitch of breath that caught in his brother’s throat as their mouths separated. Dean’s eyes were wide and hungry for more but Sam was eager to proceed with his plan to thank the Marassa personally.

“Let’s go in.” Sam whispered, smiling into Dean’s lips. “Did you bring all the stuff I asked for?”

“Oh yeah, just a sec.” Dean cleared his throat, regaining his composure from their kiss, and went back to the Impala. He popped the trunk and returned a moment later with a small, black duffle bag. Sam peeked inside as Dean unzipped it and smiled as he heard the crinkle of candy wrappers and smelled the perfume of altar candles coming from inside.

“Thanks, this is perfect,” Sam said as he inventoried the contents, “Good job not eating all this junk on the drive up.” Sam chuckled softly, mocking Dean’s ever present sweet tooth. Dean paid him back with an elbow jab to the ribs as he shushed Sam under his breath and zipped the bag up, hoisting it over his shoulder. He motioned for Sam to lead the way.

Sam climbed up the fence where it attached to the thick stone and plaster wall surrounding the cemetery with Dean following quickly behind him. He couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of déjà vu as he dropped down into the aging ruin. Dean followed closely as Sam wove his way through the rows of tombs in the pale moonlight. He was doing a much better job of honing in on his target than he had the first time he was here. Sam had been to the cemetery again a few times since that December night when he summoned the Marassa but always in the daytime. He had never brought Dean here before so tonight was special. Dean had agreed to help Sam pay homage to the forces that brought them together before they started the next chapter of their lives.

In a few short weeks, Sam would be moving into the dorms at Tulane University in New Orleans where he had earned a full scholarship in Cultural Anthropology. Where Sam went, Dean went so it was only natural that he would find his own small apartment and maybe even a day job in the French Quarter until Sam completed his freshman year of college and they could move in together off campus. They had both remained at Bobby’s in the years that followed Yellow Eyes’ death but, with Sam beginning his higher education and Dean becoming a more active member of the hunter community, the move into the city made sense.

Bobby came to accept the unique bond between Sam and Dean and, as uncomfortable as the physical aspect of their relationship had made him at first, the stubborn Cajun quickly realized that his preconceived notions of morality couldn’t touch the pure, beautiful love the boys shared. It was evident that they made one another whole and their happiness and success in the afterglow of Azazel’s death was all the evidence Bobby needed. All he ever wanted was his surrogate sons’ happiness and safety and it was as if the freedom to love one another only enhanced their talents and tore down the walls of pain and frustration that had crippled each of them emotionally. The curse Sam had been manipulated into placing on the amulet may have been the spark that lit the flames of their affection but it in no way diminished once the voodoo spirits had returned to their spiritual plain.

John’s relationship with his sons hadn’t fared as well. While it could be argued that he had done his best to make amends for using his children as pawns in his plan for revenge, neither Sam nor Dean were interested in John being a major part of their lives once the truth was revealed. Bobby was the one that demanded John tell Sam and Dean about the depth of his deceit. Bobby hoped revealing the truth would help the boys’ relationship return to that of “normal” siblings but John and Bobby’s confession about their knowledge of Sam’s powers and the intentional manipulation of his fragile emotional state to lure the demon only served to bring Sam and Dean closer together.

The boys demanded time away from John on a more permanent basis after that and it was the best thing for John as well. The man desperately needed a fresh start now that his revenge was complete. He decided to move to southern Minnesota once the concussion he’d received during the fight with Yellow Eyes healed. He had a few hunter friends up north and had spent some time there in the early 90’s when the boys were younger. John still visited Sam and Dean at Bobby’s on the odd holiday and always sent postcards and gifts when he couldn’t be there in person, something he had never done while consumed with his need to destroy the thing that killed Mary. After a few years in Minnesota John ended up married to a nice, normal woman and raising a son. He decided to permanently leave the hunting life behind.

In a different time, Dean or even Sam might have been resentful of John’s choices and the life he was now capable of giving his new family. Both boys had every right to feel nothing but hate for the man who put their lives in danger constantly to satiate his own blind need for revenge. Instead, they silently agreed that they had everything they would ever need in one another. If the events of that summer had taught the boys anything it was that some things were just meant to be.

Dean had grown into a skilled, patient hunter that used strategy and intelligence instead of blind, fearless rage to bring down his targets. He approached the work with a passion for saving lives and a desire to become a hero worthy of his brother’s love and adulation. While Dean had still chosen to continue in his father’s footsteps as a hunter, Sam looked to Bobby as his main influence. Sam studied hard while Dean honed his hunting skills and eventually graduated Valedictorian from Pearl River High School. Sam’s love for anthropology felt natural, as if it were in his very blood, and he knew he could use his knowledge to support Dean and carry on the family business. Now with that idealized future becoming a very real possibility, Sam felt reflective on everything he and Dean had bore witness to in their short lives, and he wanted to make one last offering to the spirits that had been instrumental in making his life worth living.

Sam’s eyes adjusted quickly to the dark and they approached the corner of the cemetery he was searching for in only a few minutes. The cemetery’s maze-like walkways seemed to open up for him and present the way to his destination. Sam felt the hackles on the back of his neck raise as they drew closer, a sense memory of his first encounter with the Marassa. Sam paused briefly as he turned the corner and saw Madame Laveau’s crumbling concrete tomb further down the row. It was just as he remembered it looking that night, marked up with ‘X’s’ and littered with offerings, candles and Mardi Gras beads.

“Uh, is that it?” Dean raised an eyebrow and looked sideways at Sam, his eyes moving skeptically over the tagged-up ruin that stood rather unimpressive in the aging row of mausoleums. Aside from all the offerings and rough graffiti, nothing made it stand out, and it certainly didn’t appear ‘holy’ or ‘special.’

“Yeah, believe it or not. This is where I summoned them.” Sam walked to the front of the structure and crouched down to clear away some of the rubbish. Dean kept any further thoughts on the tomb’s humble appearance to himself and stood in silence next to Sam where he knelt on the concrete. Dean handed his brother the duffle and quietly supervised as he assembled a makeshift altar from the contents.

Sam set out the candles first, digging a disposable lighter out from the bottom of the bag. The grocery store religious candles Dean purchased were garish in their imagery and reeked of pine and rose but Sam grinned knowing his brother had put thought into the ones he selected. Dean picked a green one featuring the twin brothers St. Cosmas and Damian, patron saints of healers, and a pink one with a beautiful depiction of the Virgin Mary. Sam smiled to himself as he lit them.

Next, Sam reached in for the offerings of candy and toys the Marassa liked so well. He looked down in awe down at the small worn plastic figure he retrieved first.

“Luke Skywalker? Where the hell did you find this, Dean?” Nostalgia welled up in Sam’s chest as his thumb swept over the white folds of Luke’s tunic. Star Wars was one of the happy touchstones of their childhood, something that could make them smile through the rough years they spent on the road with John.

“Yeah, uh, Salvation Army I think. Han’s in there too somewhere… Found them a while ago, made me think of you so I bought ‘em.” Dean shrugged and rubbed his right boot against the concrete as Sam looked up at him with eyes stinging and wet with the threat of tears.

They watched Star Wars often as kids on shitty, motel TV sets. They even pretended to be Luke and Han, fingers pointed in makeshift blasters shouting ‘pew-pew’ at imaginary storm troopers. Sam shook off the urge to grab his brother and squeeze the breath out of him so he could finish setting up the altar. There would be plenty of time to show Dean his appreciation later. Sam pulled the Han figure out of the bag too and laid it down next to Luke between the candles, grinning as he imagined Dean in his sentimental moment at the thrift store.

The rest of the bag contained a small mountain of other goodies including some pixie sticks, a pack of coconut gem donuts, Raspberry Zingers, an Almond Joy, a bag of Big League Chew, and a box of oatmeal cream pies.

“Jesus Christ, Dean. Think you got enough?” Sam laughed at the spread. He’d made due last time with some animal crackers, a pack of plain M&M’s and a few Jolly Ranchers. This time the Marassa were getting an out-and-out feast.

“Hey, I didn’t know how big of an appetite beings of light are supposed to have! Besides, I’ll eat whatever they don’t finish.”

Sam rolled his eyes and looked up at Dean again after arranging the pile of snacks. He extended his hand to Dean, palm up and fingers beckoning, as they made eye contact in the flickering candle light. Dean got the hint and reached up, pulling on the leather thong holding the amulet around his neck, lifting it over his head and plunking it down into Sam’s hand unceremoniously.

“So, what’s the game plan, Sammy? You summon them, we shake their hands and give them a friendly nod and they’re off again, or…?” Dean crouched down next to Sam, looking at the softness of his brother’s face in the low light.

“Something like that… I guess I’m not sure. I just… I wanted to say thank you to them and to Madame Laveau. Sometimes I think about what I felt back then and how without them I might not have you…” The emotion and uncertainty in Sam’s voice was evident. Dean reached over and laid his large, calloused hand over Sam’s and smiled at him warmly.

“Hey, I get it, Sammy. I’m here too, aren’t I? I thank God – or whatever – for you every single day. Let’s just get them here and we’ll do what feels right, like we always do. I have a feeling they’ll understand.” Sam nodded and let his head tilt until it rested for a moment against Dean’s arm as they both looked down at the altar.

“Yeah, okay. Come here. Sit down next to me.” Sam rearranged his body so his long legs were folded Indian style underneath him. Dean copied Sam’s movements and sat so their knees were touching. He reached his hand out and squeezed Sam’s thigh and nodded, letting Sam know he was as ready as he’d ever be.

Sam wrapped the amulet’s cord around his hand, letting the charm dangle down a few inches, before holding his hand out to his brother in front of the offerings. Dean clasped Sam’s hand, thumb nudging the leather cord. Sam took a deep breath and closed his eyes before he started saying the words he’d memorized all those years ago. They were as fresh in his mind as they were that night in December, his first time here. There was no trick this time, no binding spell, so he hoped the Marassa would show their true forms as they had five years ago in the swamp.

“ _Marassa nou nan nwa e. Marassa nou nan nwa devan bondye. Marassa pote chandel pou klere nou_.” Sam looked over at Dean, smiling as he heard the skittering of small feet and the soft giggling echoing along the rows of tombs behind them. He tilted his head, resting it against Dean’s as a soft glowing light tickled at the edge of his vision.

“Thank you,” Sam whispered, “thank you.”

 

**~FIN~**


End file.
